Past and Present
by Myrina
Summary: Ducky's past crosses over into his present and Tony gets pulled along for the ride. Crossover with The Man from UNCLE.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a crossover with the Man From UNCLE and was written only because every time I watch NCIS, I can't help but see Illya in Ducky. When I had the idea of pulling Tony into Ducky's past, I couldn't resist the temptation.

* * *

Past and Present

Donald 'Ducky' Mallard climbed heavily out of the cab of the Medical Examiner's truck. Early mornings and damp conditions always aggravated the old wound. He winced sharply as the muscles along his hip stretched and protested.

"I'll get the equipment out of the back, Doctor," Mr. Palmer said, as he swung the driver's side door shut.

Twisting to grab his bag from the front seat, Ducky gave him a vague noise of assent and waved him off. "I'm getting to old for this sort of thing," he mumbled to himself before heading in the direction of Tony DiNozzo.

In a marked contrast to Jethro's usual crime scenes, this one was absolute chaos. Several uniformed police officers were trying to hold back the curious hordes, their business attire marking them as part of the office workforce that inhabited the buildings around them.

Behind him, the city noise was quickly rising to a roar, punctuated by the sharp sounds of horns as annoyed commuters expressed their displeasure at having the street partially blocked off.

Falling prey to old ingrained habits, he glanced around, taking in his surroundings as he made his way past mounds of crushed brick and churned up cement slabs.

Somewhere beyond the crowd he could hear Ziva's voice at her most dangerous, the tones icily polite. He chuckled softly. She did so remind him of himself in his younger days. He couldn't spot Timothy but knew the boy was around somewhere. Jethro, Ducky noted with some amusement, seemed to be in glaring match with an individual that Ducky made to be one of D.C.'s finest. He suppressed a sigh. _And the day had started out so well._

He finally reached the place where Tony stood. "So, why are we all here on his dreary Wednesday morning, Anthony?"

Tony frowned up at the intermittent drizzle. "Thought this was your kind of weather, Duck?"

"My kind of weather, my boy, also includes easy access to a fine cup of Earl Grey and a hot buttered scone to offset the damp."

Tony chuckled. "Sorry, Ducky. Afraid I can't even offer you a semi-decent cup of coffee much less tea and scones."

"What do we have?"

"Demo guys," Tony jerked his head in the direction of several men standing at the edge of the scene in hardhats, "found the body when they knocked down the side wall on a condemned building. First glance says our vic took a gunshot to the leg, went into the building – probably to hide – and then bled out."

Ducky nodded. "What's our interest?" he asked.

"Vic had a black leather briefcase handcuffed to his wrist stamped with the Navy seal on the top. This way," he added, as he picked his way carefully around what looking to be a partially demolished support column. "Careful where you walk, Ducky, some of this rubble is none to steady."

Ducky looked up as they entered a small storeroom area, one wall of which lay in large chunks of broken concrete and brick. "Navy seal, you say. Yes, that would do it," he said distractedly. "We can start with a time of death-"

"Don't think that's going to be an issue, Ducky," Tony interrupted.

At his confused expression, Tony grinned and gestured around a jagged cement projection.

Curious, he stepped around the obstruction. The partially destroyed wall let in enough weak morning light to see the desiccated remains of what looked to be a young black man. He took a step closer and realized why time of death was going to be fairly irrelevant.

A flash bulb went off behind him as Tony snapped a picture. "I'm guessing from the lengths of the points on that polyester suit, this guy's been down here since the mid-70s."

Ducky knelt, ignoring the pull and stretch in his hip as he did his preliminary review. "I'd hazard 1974, Mr. DiNozzo. The body's in remarkably good condition, almost mummified, in fact." He shifted the body slightly, glove-covered fingers probing along a make-shift bandage wrapped around the corpse's thigh. "I'll know more once I get him on my table, but I'd guess you might be correct. He was wounded and tried to staunch the flow of blood. From the size of the blood stain on the bandage and on the floor, I'd say that the initial wound nicked the femoral artery. Without prompt medical attention, the poor fellow never really had a chance."

"What about the briefcase? Boss wanted to know if you can get if off without messing up your body?"

"Hmm. Let me see . . ." Lifting the victim's arm he noted the dried skin and tendons still firmly attached to the bones of the arm and wrist. "Not here, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait until I get him back to autopsy. I don't want to take the risk of destroying any evidence."

"Not a problem, Duck. I'll go tell Gibbs." Another bright flash went off as Tony snapped a picture.

Ducky called after the retreating agent, "Send Mr. Palmer to me when you see him, please." If Tony answered, he didn't hear as his focus was already back on the body before him. "Now, my dear fellow, let's see if we can find out who you are." Patting at the pockets of the pants first, he frowned when no wallet or other form of identification turned up. Trying the suit coat pockets and then the breast pocket of the shirt, his frown became more of a scowl as again he came up empty.

Head cocked to the side in contemplation, he stared at the corpse in front of him. "My, you are a secretive fellow. Good thing I know a thing or two about secrets," he said softly. Spreading his fingers wide, he ran his hands along the corpse's shoulders, down each arm and along the seams of the jacket. Then he started on the pants, methodically running his hands down each pant leg, taking care of feel along the seams. He was rewarded as his fingers bumped up against something tucked under the man's thigh.

With a small grin of triumph, he pulled out the object and stared at a heavy, silver pen. "Oh, dear."

"What was that, Doctor?"

Inwardly cursing his own inattention, Ducky nonchalantly waved the pen at Palmer. "Nothing, my boy. Just dropped my pen." With feigned casualness he stuck the pen down in the pocket of his overalls.

Lurching up to a standing position, he dusted off his knees. "Careful with the left arm, Mr. Palmer, we'll want to leave that attaché case connected to our body for now."

"Certainly, Doctor. You need me to bag him?"

"Please, Mr. Palmer. I'll send Agent McGee to lend you a hand."

"Okay, I'll-"

Whatever else Palmer had to say was lost as Ducky headed back out. Reaching the coroner's truck, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in a ten digit number although it was no number that any telephone company would recognize. A two-tone note sounded from the speaker and Ducky input another six digits and waited.

"Solo."

"It's me."

"Are you alright?"

He huffed out a breath in annoyance. "Must you always ask that?"

"I worry. Besides, you never call during the day. What's wrong?"

"Crime scene this morning. Male, African-American, late twenties, early thirties. He's been hidden in an abandoned building since the mid-seventies, at least. Attaché case attached to his arm. No identification on him."

"Our interest?"

"He was carrying a communicator pen."

Silence from the other end of the phone. Then he heard the tapping of keys. "We had four Section II agents go missing in D.C. in the seventies. Attaché case. Guessing a courier job. Let me see . . . Ah. Here we go. Novell. Tyrone Novell. Was carrying classified naval documents . . . yes, that would explain NCIS being called in. Oh, that case is one of the old Mark IVs. Might want to be careful with that."

"Aren't those the ones that exploded when tampered with?"

A dry chuckle came through the speaker. "Best keep Goth girl away. She's likely to lose a hand."

Ducky heard more typing and then, "Standard procedure on prints and identification. He was never put back into the system. Your people are going to come up empty-handed. I'll send you an edited file on Mr. Novell."

"Thank you."

"Nephews and nieces, _tovarish_. Our Uncle doesn't leave family. Let me know what you find out from the autopsy."

"Until then."

Snapping the phone closed, Ducky rubbed at the base of his neck. He really didn't like when his past crossed with his present.

* * *

Author Note 2: I'm looking for a beta-reader if anyone is interested and would also welcome anyone who might be interested in co-authoring.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note 1: I'm ignoring the MFU movie. _My_ Napoleon Solo would never just disappear from UNCLE, or Illya, without even a goodbye. So, Waverly died peacefully in his sleep and Napoleon became Number One of Section One. I'm also going to ignore the comment Gibbs made when Kate asked what Ducky looked like when he was younger. For this story, Gibbs has no knowledge of Illya Kuryakin, UNCLE, or mysterious pasts.

Thanks for the reviews so far. They are much appreciated. I was still working without a beta reader on this chapter so if you spot any errors, feel free to let me know – commas and I aren't really on speaking terms. This was a short chapter but they will be getting longer.

* * *

**The Past and Present Affair**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Ducky felt rather bad at his sense of relief when on returning to the NCIS morgue, they found a body had been brought in by one of the other NCIS teams. From his quick, preliminary review of the overweight Navy Commander, Ducky would bet money that the man had died of a heart attack brought on by years of bad eating habits.

He took the second body as a fortuitous opportunity to divert Palmer when his assistant asked about prepping their John Doe.

"No, Mr. Palmer, I'll handle it." Ducky knew very well the arsenal that Tyrone Novell probably had hidden in his clothing. He rather liked Jimmy Palmer. _It won't do to have the boy blow himself up, or gasing himself, or . . . heaven forbid, were they still using the temporary amnesia pills in the seventies? I can't remember. But that's definitely not a disaster I have any intention of letting loose._ "Go on and attend to the Commander over there. I'm sure Agent Wilson would be most appreciative of a quick turnaround time."

Palmer gave him a puzzled look but didn't protest too much or too loudly as he rarely got the opportunity to perform a complete autopsy by himself. "If you're sure, Doctor," he said with a small shrug before turning to the other table.

Seeing Palmer taken care of, Ducky turned to Mr. Novell. Knowing he had only a little time before Jethro would be down demanding answers, he changed into his scrubs and started to work.

He began with removing the most obvious, and dangerous devices, hidden about Mr. Novell's person. Making sure to protect his fingertips, he carefully removed the strand of razor wire that had been concealed within the soles of the man's shoes. He then searched for, and found, some of his own former favorite weapons – two shirt buttons that were in actuality a highly explosive type of hardened plastique. Novell's watch, a timer for the plastique buttons, was removed next.

_What else? What else? _By the mid seventies, he'd long come in from field work having reached his forty year majority. Napoleon had instituted a lot of new rules and polices when he'd come into power as Alexander Waverly's heir for UNCLE New York, but some rules had remained unchanged. The age limit for active Section II agents had been one of them. Now, he found he was too far removed to remember all the various gadget innovations that had taken place after his time in the field.

"What else are you hiding, Mr. Novell?" _Think. Think._ "Ah! Lock picking tools." Sliding his fingers up under the stays of Novell's shirt collar, Ducky gave a pleased _hum_ as his fingers found the tiny set of picks. Pulling them free, he gathered up everything, placed it all in a large evidence bag and locked it securely in his desk. Only then did he turn to the more mundane tasks like removing the clothing and the empty shoulder holster, doing fingerprinting, although he already knew that Abby would get no hits on the fingerprints, and finally detaching the rather damning attaché case.

Out of all of it, the empty holster bothered him the most. Novell had been an Uncle Section II Enforcement Agent. As Ducky knew well, an active Enforcement Agent would rather lose a hand than lose his gun. Hell, even after he'd retired, he'd still continued to sleep with his Uncle Special under his pillow for the next eight years. The thought of an UNCLE Special out there in the wide world, and possibly being used, was not a comforting thought.

And then there was the attaché case. He was going to have to come up with a good story there. Jethro-

"What do you have for me, Ducky?"

_Speak of the devil._ "Jethro, how long have you been an investigator?" he snapped. "You know perfectly well that I've barely had time to log all the personal affects and fingerprint our John Doe, which I've already sent off to Abigail, by the way." He indicated a cardboard box sitting at the end of the table. "His clothing and personal belongings are in there, by the way."

"ID on the body?"

"None."

Gibbs made a noise of disbelief. "No one walks around carrying Navy property without identification."

"Yet, the young man obviously did. And speaking of Navy property, I would suggest you handle this with care," he said, tapping at the side of the attaché case.

"Why?"

"Because I'm old, Jethro, and not entirely innocent to the ways of the world. I've seen this type of case before." Feeling a bit contrary, he waited until Gibbs had his hand on the handle of the case before adding, "It explodes when tampered with."

He blinked innocently at the glare that earned him.

"Care to explain _explodes_?"

Ducky tapped the side of the case again. "Metal casing under the leather. Impenetrable to x-ray. Notice the thickness of the bottom. It's imbedded with an explosive that goes "boom" if the case is tampered with without the proper key and combination."

"Key and combination?"

With a disregard that caused Gibbs to wince, Ducky flipped the case over. "Redundant locking mechanisms. Key lock and a combination. Wrong key or wrong combination and the content goes-"

"Boom."

"Precisely. You know, the last time I ran into an attaché case like that one I was in the Congo. It's a rather interesting story with a rather unfortunate ending. You see, I was working-"

"Later, Duck." And Gibbs was gone, box and attaché case in hand.

A rather sly smile crossed Ducky's face as he watched Jethro head for Abby's lab.

_Sometimes, it's just too easy._

* * *

Author's note 2: It was pointed out that many of you are too young to have ever seen _The Man from UNCLE_ in its original run or in reruns (I'm only old enough for re-runs) and that (horror!) you might not even know what _The Man from UNCLE_ was. Here is the two second version: _The Man from UNCLE_ (MFU) was a TV show that ran from 1964 – 1968. The show was thought up by Ian Fleming (the same man who created James Bond) and told the story of super-spy Napoleon Solo and his partner, Illya Kuryakin. UNCLE (United Network Command for Law and Enforcement) was a secret multi-national organization whose mission it was to protected the world against organizations like WASP and THRUSH and other evil people bent on subjugating the human race. Napoleon Solo was very much a James Bond kind of spy who lived by his charm as much as his wits. His partner, Illya Kuryakin (played by David McCallum), was a Russian spy on loan to UNCLE from the KGB. Illya had been an officer in the Russian Navy and had been sent to be schooled in both Paris and England by the KGB. He had a doctorate in Physics, spoke multiple languages, had a caustic wit, liked to blow things up, and like Ziva, knew a hundred ways to kill a man with a paperclip.

As this is really more of an NCIS story rather than a UNCLE story, I'll try to include footnotes for any UNCLE exclusive details. Such as: The UNCLE Special -- a modular Walther P38 semi-automatic that could be converted from a pistol into a longer-range carbine by attaching a long barrel, extendable shoulder stock, a telescopic sight and an extended magazine. (Even for people who aren't all that about guns -- this was a cool gun). The pistol also had dual magazines and could fire either .38 bullets or fast-acting tranquilizer darts.

And now that my author's note is longer than the chapter, I'll shut up. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note 1**: I like to believe that the Abby/Gibbs relationship is about 90% father/daughter with the other 10% being Gibbs letting his inner perv run free. I think he enjoys the flirting, but would never cross the line with her.

Many thanks to steamfan for volunteering for beta duty.

* * *

**The Past and Present Affair  
Chapter 3**

The next day Gibbs entered Abby's lab to thunderous music whose deep bass vibrations he could feel rumbling up through the souls of his feet. Engrossed as she was in swaying to the driving beat and fooling with something on the computer in front of her, she never knew he was behind her. He didn't even have to mask his footsteps as he came to a stop a foot behind her lithe form. A form, he reminded himself sternly, he was not admiring. It took less than ten seconds for her to sense him and spin around, putting her within a few inches of his chest.

Her eyes widened in surprise at his nearness at the same time a mischievous smile curved her blood red lips. "Gibbs!" she shouted over the music.

He raised a brow in reply and she scrambled to cut off the music. He sighed softly in relief at the quiet. "What do you-"

"Don't ask!" she cried, throwing up a hand in his direction.

"Abby."

"I've got nothing, Gibbs. Nothing. There are no hits on John Doe's fingerprints, which given the time frame isn't that hard to understand considering IAFIS only really got up and running in the 1990s." She bounced on her toes and spun away from him only to spin back again. "The briefcase had three sets of fingerprints that survived. One belongs to our victim, one belongs to a Navy Commander that died in 2000 and the other comes up as unidentified. I can't open the briefcase without destroying the contents. Major Mass Spec has completely let me down because there is nothing that's survived on the victim's clothing or skin that you wouldn't expect to be there after thirty years in a basement room. I've got bugs and dust and pollen and spiders and six different kinds of mold and-"

He pitched his voice low. "Abby!"

She froze and then slumped forward her forehead resting against his shoulder. "I'm sorry Gibbs," she said mournfully, "I've failed you."

The urge to grin at her dramatics was overshadowed by the rising sense of frustration he was getting from this case. "Anything on the shoulder holster?"

She perked up immediately. "Oh, the holster. It's rather interesting, but nothing really helpful."

"Interesting how?"

"Here, check this out," she said, pointing to the where the holster was laid out on one of her lab tables. "The holster was custom made for our John Doe and was made from top quality leather, definitely not off the rack. From the shape of the holster, I'd guess that it was intended for some type of automatic weapon."

She did a slow grin up at him and he knew she was wanting and waiting for him to ask the next question. "What else, Abs?"

"He used his holster . . . a lot." One black tipped fingernail tapped at the leather. "Check out these wear patterns. The only way to get that kind of pattern is if you were constantly pulling and holstering your gun." She gave a small shrug. "That's all I've got."

He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "Not your fault, Abby." Spinning around, he headed back upstairs, hoping that the rest of his team had found something useful.

* * *

"Give me something on our John Doe," Gibbs growled as he stepped out of the elevator and headed towards his desk.

His three agents cast nervous glances at each other across their desks. Gibbs narrowed his eyes in annoyance, a move he knew would get Tony moving. Right on cue, DiNozzo jumped to his feet, his expression apologetic. "We got nothing, Gibbs."

"You, know, I'm _really_ getting tired of hearing that phrase."

"Sorry, boss. This guy was a ghost."

"I checked with Missing Persons," McGee added quickly, "but records from that time frame weren't electronic and a lot of the older stuff has never been added into the system. What was there didn't provide any matches to our man's general age, height, weight or ethnicity."

Behind him, Gibbs heard the elevator ding but he ignored the sound, his focus still on his people in front of him. He saw Ziva glance behind him and then refocus on the note pad in her hand. "I spoke with the Secretary of the Navy's office, she said. "They are denying, quite emphatically, that they are not missing any couriers, documents, or attaches cases and that there are no open cases from the mid-seventies."

"Damn it," Gibbs snapped, "I want to know who this guy was."

"His name was Mr. Tyrone Novell and he worked for me."

Gibbs spun on his heel at the sound of the cultured voice. The person belonging to the voice was equally as cultured, if the Italian suit, black leather loafers, and ebony walking cane were any indication.

"And you are?"

The man smiled pleasantly, seeming to take no insult from Gibb's demanding and aggressive tone. "Nathan Singleton." Brown eyes, sparkling with good humor met his own. "And you must be Special Agent Gibbs."

The first impression said distinguished older gentleman. Yet for all of the man's the genial affability, the hairs on the back of Gibb's neck were standing straight up.

* * *

**Author's Note 2**: I know, it's still really short. I swear, they will be getting longer. For those of you who aren't up on your _Man from Uncle_, 'Nathan Singleton' would be the name that Napoleon Solo is using, much the way that Illya Kurakin is using Dr. Donald Mallard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: Many thanks to Steamfan for the beta job and to Uncle Charlie for stepping forward to assist with the writing. I've actually never worked with a co-author before so it is a very novel (yes, pun intended) experience.

* * *

**Past and Present Affair**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Certainly from outward appearances alone, the man seemed nothing more than a genteel older gentleman, but Jethro Gibbs hadn't got where he was by paying attention to mere appearances. There was something about the man that put him on high alert, nor did he didn't miss how the man casually swept the room, noting various agents, the stairs and designated exits. Something was hidden in those hazel eyes and easy smile that screamed a warning to him.

"Special Agent Gibbs," he said, offering a hand. "How may I help you, Mr. Singleton?"

"The word on the pipeline is that you discovered an unfortunate fellow in a partially demolished building."

"And your point, Mr. Singleton?"

"I believe that I might be able to shed some light onto both his identity and the information he was carrying."

Tony locked eyes with Ziva and grinned. No doubt the fireworks from this were going to be fodder for the water cooler for weeks to come. McGee glanced up briefly and returned to his keyboard, projecting disinterest, when in fact he was as eagerly following every word as were his co-workers. He also took a few minutes to log into the database and initiate a search query on the name Nathan Singleton.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed in annoyance at the thought that this Singleton knew about his case but he had no idea who Singleton was. "Is that so? And may I ask who contacted you, Mr. Singleton?"

"Not a who, a what." The man held up a finger and patted the pockets of his jacket, brightening as his hands detected something. He reached in and pulled out a piece of paper. "Um, according to my secretary, you ran a set of fingerprints that came back as a match to Mr. Novell."

McGee, a frown on his face, gave up pretending to be engrossed in his computer. "Abby ran the fingerprints through IAFIS. No hits came back."

Singleton turned an engaging grin on Tim, his expression that of someone who invited those around him to share in the joke. "Pardon me; I should have been more specific. No fingerprint matches were returned to NCIS. Section V, however, was notified that a search on Mr. Novell's fingerprints had been conducted."

"Section V?" McGee asked.

Singleton leaned a little more heavily on his cane, relaxing into his stance. "The always eager boys and girls in Intelligence and Security."

Gibbs now had a name for the squirming in his gut. "You're a Fed." It was said in the same tone that someone else might have used to describe something stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

Singleton's grin widened. "Yes . . . and no."

Gibbs really hated games. "You either are or you aren't," he said.

Waving a hand in dismissal, Singleton, said, "Potato . . . Potato. But really, my affiliations aside, I was more interested in what those self-same boys and girls in Section V discovered when they called and spoke with a Dr. Mallard."

"Why would Ducky talk to these Section people?" Ziva stage whispered to Tony.

Singleton apparently heard and turned an appreciative smile in her direction. "He was . . . familiar . . . with the style of the briefcase our man was carrying. It was a project that was largely doomed from the first, but every once in a while, one still turns up."

Gibbs interrupted them. "How do I know you are on the level with any of this, Mr. Singleton?"

Singleton held up a key, twirling it in manicured fingers. "How about - I can open it."

Gibbs regarded the man for a long moment, his face showing nothing of the war raging inside his head. "Very well, DiNozzo, escort our guest down to Autopsy."

"Got it, boss!" Tony sprang to his feet and approached Singleton. "This way please." He gestured towards the elevators.

**NCIS – MFU - NCIS**

As they stepped into the elevator, Singleton turned to DiNozzo. "So tell me, Agent DiNozzo, what's it like working with NCIS? It must be fascinating work."

"Pretty exciting at times, but there are days I would kill for a white collar job." Tony stopped, wondering where that admission had come from. He loved his work, nearly as much as he did his free time. There was something strange about this man, something that made Tony want to trust, and yet, remain wary of the elderly gentleman all at the same time.

The elevator doors slid back and Singleton followed the agent out of the elevator. He paused at the glass doors and looked in. Two men, both in surgical scrubs, stood posed over a naked body. _When did we get this old?_ Singleton thought as he watched his former UNCLE partner limp across the room to retrieve some forgotten item. _It seemed like just days ago that we were DiNozzo's age, racing around, saving the world, making it our playground. And this was how we've been repaid_. He leaned upon his walking stick, feeling every bit as old as his birth certificate claimed.

He made a slight face at the mingled smell of antiseptic, blood, and other things he preferred not to contemplate as the doors to Autopsy opened. DiNozzo pushed past him and into the room. "Hey, Ducky, you have a visitor." DiNozzo slid a cautionary glance around the room as he spoke. Ever since that terrorist had held his friends hostage, he'd never stepped foot into autopsy without making sure everything was secure.

"Thank you, Anthony." The ME didn't turn from his task of freeing the corpse's heart. "Look at this, Mr. Palmer, as a cautionary tale. This is what a life of excess will win you." Ducky dropped the heart onto a scale. "The normal weight for a man's heart is ten to twelve ounces. His is twenty-eight, nearly two pounds. I'm impressed that he could muster enough energy to change his mind, much less have the amount required to die. I would rule his death as a massive coronary brought on by excessive weight and a reckless lifestyle." He scooped the heart from the scale and placed it back into the cavity. He settled a flap of skin back in place. "Put him to bed, Mr. Palmer. I think the Commander is ready for a rest."

Only then did the ME turn and face his guest. To his very great credit, the man's face revealed nothing more than polite bonhomie. He peeled off the blood-stained latex gloves and offered a hand. "Dr. Mallard."

"Yes, you…um… I believe you have possibly found one of my men?"

Singleton looked about ready to bolt from the room and DiNozzo slapped him gently upon the shoulder.

"Well, I leave you in good hands, Mr. Singleton. See you for lunch, Ducky."

"Possibly, I might be busy, Anthony, thank you." But the man was already halfway to the elevator. Ducky smiled and held up a finger towards Singleton. "Are you almost finished there, Mr. Palmer?"

"Nearly, Doctor, I was wondering if I…well, it's not that I'm not…"

"You wish to leave for lunch early, Mr. Palmer?"

"I have a couple of chore…things."

"Go, Jimmy." Ducky waved towards the door and headed for his desk. After four hours on his feet, he was more than ready to sit.

Singleton followed and likewise accepted a chair. Once the younger student had bounded out the door, he turned to study the doctor with a discerning eye. "You look tired, old friend."

"And you the peak of good health. Want to trade?" Ducky reached for a cozy and pulled it from the pot. "No, unless you've gone senile, no one would want my job."

Singleton chuckled softly. "Amen to that." The two fell into the shared silence of old friends as Ducky went about pouring two cups of tea. Only when the ME had taken his first sip and relaxed back into his chair did Singleton speak. "Illya, we need to talk."

The accusation came swiftly. "What have you done?"

Singleton raised a hand to his chest in wounded affront. "You say that like it's always me."

"It _is_ always you. Why are you here anyway? I was expecting someone from Section III to come identify the body. A very junior someone, I might add. This is hardly the sort of thing that brings you out of New York. And speaking of being out of New York, where are Fredricks and Govan?"

"I left them at the hotel."

"You left them at- Napoleon, are you insane? Must I remind you of the assassination attempt on your life the last time you ditched your bodyguards?"

"I'm on a Naval base surrounded by Federal agents. I'm perfectly safe," Napoleon grumbled.

"Safe? Might I remind you that I was not long ago taken hostage in this very room by a rogue Mossad agent with the same aforementioned Federal agents just outside that door?" Illya gave his old friend his best glare.

"Nonsense. Besides, I have you watching my back, just like the old days."

Ducky's eyes closed and he shook his head in exasperation, but there was great fondness in his voice when he spoke. "You are aware, that given our pasts, statistically we have a greater chance of dying when we are together than when we are apart?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, tovarisch."

"You are incorrigible."

"And you love me for it. Besides," Singleton said with a shrug, "I was bored. The world was relatively quiet and . . . ." He trailed off.

"And?" Ducky prompted.

A somewhat sheepish smile crossed Singleton's face. "I wanted to meet the people you work with. To be able to put faces and personalities to the names in your stories. This is your life now and I wanted to see you in it."

The scowl on Ducky's face softened. "You make it sound like you never see me. I'm hardly gone from your life."

"True, but I go weeks without seeing you now, not like the good old days."

Ducky snorted. "They weren't all good, Napoleon. I seem to recall quite a few that were less than pleasant. Still, it's nice to see you, all things accepted."

"Interesting work place, by the way. I love what you've done with it."

Ducky smiled, a warm, genuine smile that started at his toes and moved up through his body. "I have missed you, old friend."

"And I you. Now, about this briefcase . . ."

**NCIS – MFU - NCIS**

DiNozzo swung out of the elevator, whistling softly to himself. He was nearly to his desk when Gibb's sharp, "DiNozzo!" stayed him in his tracks.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Are you missing something?"

Tony's gaze dropped to his outfit, still very much in place from when he left. "Boss?"

"Where's Singleton?" Gibbs growled.

"I left him with Ducky." DiNozzo realized the moment the words left this mouth that he'd committed a blunder. He gestured over his shoulder. "I'll go right back down there and get him, boss."

"Excellent idea, DiNozzo." Gibb's voice was hard and sharp-edged; it prompted Tony to hurry his steps along back to the elevator bank, and from there Autopsy.

Tony stepped from the elevator when it reached the basement and paused, his hand dropping towards his belt. Of course, his gun was safely tucked away in his desk and he cursed himself for the oversight. He edged towards the glass doors and peeked carefully inside. Ducky and Singleton appeared to be doing nothing more than talking and he let his breath out. He saw no reason to break up the meeting, not as long as Ducky looked relaxed and in no danger.

The pair stood and walked towards the bank of storage compartments. After a moment, Ducky slid a drawer out, revealing a slender black male. "That's him," Singleton admitted, his voice filtering softly through the door. "When you called, I was pretty sure. Thanks for the heads up, Illya."

_Illya? Who or what the hell was Illya?_ Tony thought, as the two continued talking.

"When I saw the communicator, I had no doubts he was one of us. Jethro isn't going to release the body to you, you know." Ducky said.

Tony stood there, frowning, his mind racing. Ducky's voice had changed, grown stronger and with less hesitation. His accent had shifted slightly as well, like it did when he was very tired or on those rare occasions when he'd had a little too much to drink.

"I'm not worried about Gibbs, I can handle him."

"Don't underestimate him, Napoleon. Jethro Gibbs is a force to be reckoned with. This I have learned through considerable experience. He's a good man to have at your back and a very bad one to have at your throat."

"Hmmm, sounds like Gibbs have a made a good agent."

"He is a good agent and don't forget that for one moment. And don't make the mistake of underestimating his team. Agent David is on loan to us by Israeli intelligence."

Singleton raised a brow. "Any relation to Eli David, the current Director of Mossad?"

"The very same. She is his daughter. And young McGee is a computer whiz."

"And the other one, DiNozzo?"

Tony found himself leaning forward, eager to hear the doctor's evaluation. "Brilliant, but easily led by a comely look or a willing smile. Now, who does that remind me of, my friend?" Ducky leaned closely to the man and murmured something. Both laughed and returned to the desk to sit. Tony used the moment to creep back to the elevator and then acted as if he'd just gotten out from them. As he sauntered into Autopsy both men glanced at him, almost guiltily, as if they were little boys discovered with their fingers covered in frosting.

"My boss was wondering if you were ready to take a look at that briefcase now, Mr. Singleton."

"Of course, Mr. DiNozzo." Singleton rose stiffly from the chair as if he'd been sitting there for far too long. "No rest for the wicked, eh, Doctor?"

"Or the living, I fear. That reminds me of a story…"

"Gosh, look at the time, Ducky, I need to get Mr. Singleton over to Abby before she takes off . . . for somewhere . . . ." Tony took a hopeful step towards the elevator. If the doctor got to reminiscing, it could take hours to escape. Palming his phone, he quickly dialed Gibbs and spoke quietly into the instrument.

"Perhaps I shall trail along as well. I'd not mind a gander inside that elusive package." Ducky gestured over his shoulder at the wall of cold storage. "They certainly aren't going anywhere."

"Sure, Ducky, no worries." DiNozzo worked hard at keeping his face receptive, but a cloud of dismay crossed his eyes and the doctor dropped his head to hide his smile. Without another word, they boarded the elevator.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Gibbs sat quietly at his desk, lost in thought, even his ever-present cup of coffee forgotten. As if suddenly being switched on, he barked, "McGee?"

"Running the background on Nathan Singleton, boss. Says he's the CEO of an international import company, called Hargrove Trading."

"That's it?" Gibbs demanded.

"Just the usual business dealings, although the company does seem to have dealings in a lot of countries."

"The usual business dealings, McGee, don't include having a department called Intelligence and Security. Usual business dealings don't get you access to walk into NCIS headquarters like you own the place." Gibbs voice rose until he was almost shouting, "Usual business dealings don't have you carrying around the key to a thirty year old Navy attaché case."

"Thirty-six . . ." McGee corrected automatically before his brain caught up with his mouth. "Not that you really . . . I mean . . ."

Ziva took pity on McGee and stepped into the conversation before he dug himself any deeper. "You suspect that this import company, Hargrove Trading, is a front for one of your Intelligence branches?"

"Yes. It explains the briefcase and his access to it."

"Oh, the briefcase manufacturing does appear to be on the up and up," McGee added. "There was even a patent filed for it. Says here that type of briefcase had been manufactured to their specs outside of the country, but it proved too volatile to sell upon the open market. There were some pretty disastrous results. I did find one bit of information that was sort of interesting, but of no real importance."

"Everything's important, McGee. What is it?"

"The doctor that oversaw the testing was one Donald Mallard. Apparently, Ducky and Singleton go way back."

The phone rang and Gibbs snatched it up while still digesting that last bit of information. "Gibbs." He listened for a moment and nodded. "On our way." He gestured to McGee and David. "That was DiNozzo, they are heading for the lab."

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Even through the glass doors, the rock music was blaring. Nothing could prepare a person for when he or she first walked through those doors into Abby's lair and caught the full blast of her latest musical obsession square between the eyes. Both older gentlemen winced and Tony stepped past them to click off the music. A cry of outrage sang out from behind a bank of equipment.

"Tony, stop playing at being Gibbs! That's the latest release from Ghost of the Robot," Abby shouted as she sailed around the computers and came to a skidding stop. Black-lined eyes regarded Singleton up and down in a way he'd not been studied by a member of the opposite sex for a long time. "Well, hello there. Welcome to the Den of Antiquity."

Ducky watched with tolerant amusement as Napoleon's spine straightened under Abby's regard. He knew the next moves in this dance and was not disappointed when Napoleon's hazel eyes took on an admiring gleam that had in its day enticed women, good and bad, the world over.

Knowing how much of a flirt Abby was, he wasn't surprised to see Abby respond to that look in Napoleon's eyes by flashing him an engaging grin while sidling a step closer. "This is a friend of mine, Abigail, Mr. Nathan Singleton."

"I'm Abby." She stuck out a ring-bedecked hand.

Napoleon took her hand in his. "Would you mind terribly if I called you Abigail, as Ducky does? Such a lovely young lady . . . well, Abigail suits you better, I think."

Seeing that the two were now focused on each other, Ducky left them to their mutual flirting.

Tony, who'd been hanging back by the door, leaned over to Ducky. "Did she just blush?" he asked in something that sounded remarkably like awe.

Ducky, who'd quit paying any attention, glanced back over at the other two. Napoleon was still holding Abby's hand. He rolled his eyes. "He has that effect." Clearing his throat, he said sternly, "Nathan."

At the sound of his name, Singleton, not even missing a beat in his conversation, transferred Abby hand to the crook of his arm before turning to look around the room. "I must say, this some of the most advanced state-of-the-art equipment I've seen. My own company would . . . kill to have some of these things."

Abby's eyes lit up at finding someone who seemed to appreciate her toys. She bounced next to him in excitement, her pigtails wiggling in time. "Let me give you the ten cent tour."

As Abby led Singleton further in the lab, Tony leaned towards Ducky again. "Hey, Duck, I thought I heard you call him Napoleon a while ago."

"Did I? It's an unfortunate bit from his youth. He was a . . . late bloomer, shall we say. He had a bit of a Napoleonic complex as a young man, hence the nickname."

"That makes sense." Tony nodded sagely. He knew there had to be a simple explanation. "Hey Abby," he called to the tech. "Don't get too excited over there, Gibbs is on his way down. Mr. Singleton here has the secret to opening that briefcase."

"Sweet. I can't wait to see inside," Abby announced as she dashed off to retrieve the briefcase.

Deprived of his lovely escort, Singleton wandered back to the other two men. "Is she always like this?" he asked, glancing from one man to the other and both nodded in tandem.

"Fueled on 100 proof caffeine," Tony murmured. "Rumor has it that she was a gas molecule in a former life."

Singleton chuckled at that, a deep rich sound that made Tony grin in response.

"What are you grinning at, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped as he entered and Tony's smile washed away from his face. Singleton exchanged the briefest of looks with the ME and smiled apologetically at the young agent.

"Nothing, boss. We were just waiting for you before cracking this thing open."

Gibbs dropped a huge plastic cup onto a table top and Abby bounced up to him, smiles abound. "My hero in shining-" She fingered the sleeve of the sport coat he was wearing. "What is this, tweed? Gibbs, I so have to take you shopping for something better."

"Abby."

Snatching up the drink, she settled the briefcase onto the countertop in its place. "Right. My buzz was starting to run out." Taking a long sip, she gave everyone a beatific smile and then placing the fluid at arm's length, she pushed the case towards Singleton. "I'm told you're the man with the secret. Ooo, you could pretend like you're a secret agent or something."

Ducky dropped his head to hide his smirk, but Gibbs caught it and his habitual frown grew deeper. There was more than met the eye here and he swore to himself that he would sweep his friend aside the first chance he had and make him come clean.

Singleton studied the case, one manicured fingernail scratching lightly at the rust spots encrusted around the lock. "Well, with any luck, the locks are still in good enough shape to be sprung."

"Shouldn't you do the combination first," Ducky asked, and then clamped his mouth shut as six pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction.

"You want to do this?" Singleton asked, stepping away from the case and locking eyes with the doctor. "It's priority code seven, by the way. Do you remember it?"

"It's been a few years," Ducky admitted, bending over the case. He thought for a moment and then his fingers worked at the reluctant combination lock. "Abigail, do you perchance have any lubricant?"

"You mean like WD or KY, yes to both." She beamed at Gibbs, who merely shook his head

"The first, I should think." Ducky answered absentmindedly, his focus on the case in front of him.

"Never underestimate the value of a good lube, my silver-haired fox," Abby muttered as she passed the can over. A quick sprizt and the tumblers turned much easier.

"The key?" The doctor held his hand out and Singleton moved to pass it to him, but Gibbs stayed his hand. "Duck, why don't you step back? If this thing blows, I'll not have your death on my conscience too."

"I'm all right, Jethro, I know what I'm doing."

"So did Kate, now step aside, Doctor." There was a brief battle of wills between the two men and then reluctantly, the ME took a step back. "That goes for everyone else too. Out of the room, all except you, Mr. Singleton. If it blows, we go together."

If Singleton was suppose to be intimated, he didn't let it show, merely giving an easy shrug. "As you wish. Shall I open it then?" At Gibbs's nod, the man slid the key into it lock and twisted. Both latches came up and everyone, save the two men and the doctor, visibly flinched.

"It's totally safe now, just as long as no one attempts to deconstruct it." Singleton tucked the key back into a breast jacket pocket and lifted the lid.

The interior was mildewed and crusted with brown streaks. A small canister was tucked to one side and it was that that Gibbs reached for first. He popped the lid, flipped it and a roll of film dropped out.

"Wow, I haven't seen real camera film in like ages," Abby reached for it and held it up to the light. ""Oh my god, is that who I think it is?"

"What?" Both Gibbs and Singleton reached for the film simultaneously. At the last moment, Singleton stayed his hand and Gibbs took possession. He studied the images upon the film for a long time before passing it over to Singleton.

"We are in a lot of trouble," Gibbs admitted.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: New chapter ! Hope you all enjoy.

Once again, many thanks to steamfan for her beta skills (And to steamfan Jr. for pointing out the evils of cliff-hangers . . . although that probably isn't going to stop me).

* * *

**Past and Present Affair  
Chapter 5  
by Myrina and Uncle Charlie  
**

Tony DiNozzo stared into the tiny screen of his cell phone, turning it first one way and then the other, while studying the photo upon it. It was like a car wreck. He wanted to look away, but any attempt to tear his eyes from the screen made the image that much more enticing. "How do two guys do that," he muttered, glancing up at McGee. "I mean, I know how . . . but how?"

McGee's face was a mixture of fascination and horror as he tilted his head to the side to try to get a better angle. "At their age, they'd have to be worried about sprains or dislocations."

Ziva straightened from her bent position over DiNozzo's other shoulder. "It's disgusting," she said firmly, although that didn't keep her from glancing down at the photo again. "It's against the laws of nature. In Israel, they'd be shot."

"I suspect if the Queen ever saw this, they'd be shot in England too." Tony clicked to the next picture. "Oh, my god . . . is that a pony?"

"That had better not be what I think it is, DiNozzo." Gibbs's voice nearly made the younger agent drop his phone.

"Just checking my mailbox, boss." He clicked off the screen quickly, lest the ex-Marine see the images.

"Delete them. NOW, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered. Reaching for his ever-present cup of coffee, he shook the empty cup sadly. His phone rang and he snatched it up, his mood growing more foul at the Director's voice.

"My office, Jethro." Jenny's voice held a bitter, no-nonsense tone to it that did not promise happy times ahead - all this and no coffee. To cheer himself up, he smacked DiNozzo's head as he passed, not offering any explanation. He had to admit to himself that he felt much better after that, a feeling that fled to hide beneath a large rock as he headed toward the stairs that lead up to the Director's office. Her door was open and Singleton was being escorted out by Director Sheppard. Singleton gave a polite nod of his head at the special agent as they passed in the hallway before Gibbs followed the woman back into her office and closed the door behind him.

"Jethro," Jenny began, walking back to her desk. "We have a problem."

Gibbs let out a huff of breath in something that was almost amusement. "You've seen the photos I take it then?"

"This goes way beyond the photos. I just received a call that we are to turn over the investigation to Mr. Singleton. That includes all evidence that Abby might have collected, the body, _and_ the photos."

"You want us to just turn everything over to . . . I don't think so."

The Director's eyes narrowed. "And I didn't ask." She lifted a sheet of a paper from her desk. "This office has been ordered, _ordered_ Gibbs, to turn everything over to Singleton and to cooperate with him 100 percent, no questions asked."

"I can't do that, Jenny. We've got a thirty year old body carrying around blackmail material that could potentially cripple the British relations world wide, and compromise our own standing with both them and the world market. The hell I'm turning over that information to someone I don't know and damn well don't trust."

"Never the less, this is not a request." She turned the sheet of paper over as she sat. Forcing out a deep breath, she dropped her tone to something more conciliatory. "For what it's worth, Jethro, I don't like it very much either."

"Then fight it. Who's making the request – CIA, FBI, one of those other three letter jerks? I'll go directly to them."

"You can't, Jethro. There are some organizations whose acronyms exceed even ours."

Gibbs shook his head in denial. "Interpol?" he scoffed. "I've dealt with them before. It's no big deal."

One of Jenny's hands went up to massage the bridge of her nose. "Jethro, drop it. That's an order."

Abruptly Gibbs did a verbal about-face, and gave her a slight, rueful smile. "Okay."

Jenny knew that look. "I mean it, Jethro," she warned.

"Absolutely, Director. No problems."

"Damn it, Jethro. This isn't like your little games with Fornell. You screw this up and I won't be able to save you. Do you understand me? Don't make this harder than it already is."

"Would I do that, Director?" He turned to leave. "You know how well I follow orders." He walked from the room as the woman slowly shook her head.

"That's what frightens me," she said sadly, lifting the sheet of paper yet again and studying the memo stamped with a logo that she'd only ever seen once before in her life.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Gibbs came down from the director's office, a thundercloud of anger hovering about him like the sky on a humid summer afternoon. All three of the special agents hunkered down at their desks, eyes down and fingers nervously tapping keys in an attempt to avoid the wrath of Gibbs. Instead the man stormed past them, papers rustling in his wake, to head for the elevator.

As soon as the man stepped inside and the doors had closed safely behind him, the three let out a collective sigh of relief.

Suddenly a thought occurred to DiNozzo. Jumping up from his seat, he settled himself on the edge of Ziva's desk. "Zee-va?"

She didn't look up from the file folder she was studying. "Hmm?"

"Tovarisch, that's Russian isn't it?"

That made her look up. "Tovarisch," she repeated, accenting a different syllable. "The sound is more like toe, not two. Your pronunciation is horrible. And yes, it is Russian. Why?"

"So what does it mean?"

"The strict translation would be comrade. Again, I ask why?"

Tony waved her off. "Just something I overheard Singleton call Ducky. Wondered what it meant."

"Why would it mean anything, Tony? Ducky is Scottish, not Russian."

"Yea, that's what's bothering me."

"You are looking for Reds under your covers?"

"You mean bed," McGee corrected automatically. "Under your bed." Both men were now long since used to Ziva's rather colorful misinterpretations of colloquialisms. "Maybe it's a nickname or some kind of inside joke between the two of them," he offered.

Tony considered that. It was possible. He remembered Ducky calling Singleton 'Napoleon'.

"Napoleon marched on Russia, didn't he?" Tony asked with a frown as he tried to remember his World History classes.

"Why are you so interested in Russia?" Ziva asked.

He gave her his second best glare. "Just gimme the answer."

"Yes," Ziva answered with a sigh. "Napoleon invaded Russia in 1812. The Russian forces, being outnumbered, retreated before the French army, drawing them further and further into Russia. When winter came, it decimated the French who were cut off from much needed supplies. The Russian army was then able to destroy the remaining French troops. Napoleon had left earlier to return to France and thus escaped." She paused in her mini-history lesson. "Do not your schools teach you history?"

Tony made a face at her. "Yes, they teach us history." He hesitated and then added, "But I might have slept through that class."

He considered. _An_ _inside joke. Napoleon and the Russians. Maybe Ducky had handed Singleton his ass in a fight or something. It made a kind of sense. And yet . . . . _Gibbs always said to trust your gut. Think with your head, but trust your gut and his was clenching and unclenching in an uncomfortable dance of confusion. Then again , it could have been the three burritos he'd wolfed down for breakfast. "Have you found anything McGoogle?"

McGee shook his head. "No, and that is more puzzling than anything else. In a world that downloads everything onto the Internet, there is nothing on this Singleton guy. He's like a ghost."

"A spook?" Tony asked, brows raised.

"No, I mean a ghost. He's transparent. It's like he's there, but there no real substance. He exists, but he doesn't." McGee dropped his eyes to his keyboard and punched in a few keys. "I've gone back as far as I can and there's just nothing to him. He's all just window dressing. But at the same time there is also nothing there that suggests he isn't who he says he is."

"So maybe his background is fake," Ziva said. "Mossad will often create phony identities and backgrounds for operatives."

McGee shook his head again. "No, this doesn't feel planted and I've been able to trace Nathan Singleton all the way back to the early sixties. There are passport records and signatures and all those little things you see in a real person's history. It's just . . . I don't know. It's like it's got no depth. A ghost."

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

As the elevator doors opened, Gibbs paused, mostly to see if the coast was clear. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to run into that polished, ever-smiling Singleton. There was a serious mystery afoot and he had a feeling it narrowed down to just one man.

He walked into autopsy and scanned the immediately area. Ducky was bent over a body, Novell's, it looked like. _Probably trying to wring as much information out of the body before he was forced to surrender it. Chalk one up for the good guy_s, Gibbs thought. At least Ducky was still on **his** side . . . or was he? Yesterday, he would have gone to the wall defending the man's loyalty. But ever since Singleton showed up, he had the sinking feeling that he was adrift without his old friend at the helm.

"Ducky, we need to talk."

"I'm rather busy, Jethro." The fact that the face-plated man didn't even bother to turn to address him spoke volumes to Gibbs.

"My office, now, Doctor Mallard."

There was no escaping Gibbs when he started using full names. Ducky sighed and peeled off his latex gloves before removing the face mask. "I'll be right back, Mr. Novell," he murmured, patting the arm of the body on the table. Wearily, and limping a bit more than usual, the ME followed Gibbs into the elevator.

The door had no sooner slid shut then Gibbs stabbed angrily at the red Emergency Stop button. He rounded on Ducky. "You want to tell me what is going on?"

Ducky resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He'd been expecting this, but had hoped to put off the confrontation a little while longer. "There is nothing going on, Jethro."

"Nothing? I've got a thirty year old dead body, doctor. I've got a roll of film that has the potential to put a strain on long standing US treaties in _three_ different countries. And," he spat, "I've got one Nathan Singleton, the CEO of an import company no one's ever heard of, who is being given that film by the US government. Not to mention, Singleton has just been given carte blanche over my case. Oh, and on top of all that, I have you."

Ducky tried for a peace-making tone. "Really Jethro-" he began, only to be abruptly cut off.

"According to McGee's research, you were part of the initial testing trials on that damned briefcase. Who is Singleton?"

"He is the CEO of a-"

"Don't lie to me, Ducky, not now."

Ducky sighed. Sometimes, he really missed being able to let loose Illya's more abrupt, and admittedly rude, method of handling people. "Enough, Jethro. You have asked me several questions and not allowed me to answer a single one. First, nothing is going on that poses any danger to you and yours. Secondly, I have not lied to you. And as for Nathan Singleton, he is a good man and a good friend."

When Gibbs looked to be about to open his mouth again, Ducky raised up a finger between them. "Eh! You will let me finish. Singleton is honorable and trustworthy. His . . . company has business ties to almost every government in the world. His reputation, and his company's reputation, is above reproach. I have no doubts that it was for that reason that the film was entrusted to his care."

Gibbs was mollified somewhat, but his body language and tone were still accusatory. "And your work with him?"

"Jethro, you know that I served in . . . my country's military?"

"I remember."

Ducky's gaze was turned inward. "For a number of years, my service included being on loan, an exchange officer if you will. Much like Ziva is today. I ended up being partnered with Singleton."

"When?" he demanded, unsure of just how he felt at finding a part of Ducky's past he didn't know anything about.

"Another lifetime ago and that lifetime has somewhat abruptly collided with this one. They were never really meant to intersect, but as we both know, the path of life is seldom predictable."

"He's dangerous, Duck. I can feel it."

The small chill smile that curled one corner of Ducky's lips did nothing to reassure Gibbs. Neither did the doctor's next words. "No more dangerous than me; certainly not as dangerous as he used to be."

"I don't like it."

Ducky's gaze slid back into focus. "It or him, Jethro?" When Gibbs didn't answer, Ducky's sighed again. "That's it, isn't it?" He reached out and placed a hand on the man's arm, squeezing it gently. "Do you trust me, Jethro?"

"Of course I do, what sort of question is that? Why would you even ask that?"

"You need to trust me now, possibly more than you ever have before. Trust me and don't question my actions. Know that I am operating with the best interests of NCIS at heart. Trust me, but please, don't ask me to choose."

"Choose? Choose what?" Gibb's voice had dropped into the sub-arctic range.

"Between him and you, Jethro. I fear neither of us would enjoy the consequences." Ducky reached over and hit the start button on the elevator, darting out at a speed that belied his age just as Gibb's phone began to ring.

Gibbs stared out after him until the closing doors blocked him from sight. Only then did he answer the phone.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Ducky didn't pause to see if Gibbs followed him. He knew in his heart-of-hearts that the man wouldn't, or indeed, couldn't do that. Jethro was a proud man, strong and absolute in his dedication to his duty to his country and NCIS. But that very pride and determination often made him unbending and unable to compromise.

Ducky returned to the body of Tyrone Novell, deceased UNCLE agent, and pondered the young man's fate. _And what of his partner_, he thought as he retracted the sartirous muscle to uncover the femoral artery. The bullet had nicked it, just as he'd earlier concluded. Even though the man had tried binding it, death had been a matter of minutes. That meant the attack had come during the time he was in that building, but probably not from within, as Novell certainly wouldn't have had time to conceal himself and his secret otherwise. Had his partner been killed or taken prisoner? Escaped and returned to try to affect a rescue?

Ducky felt a pang at the thought of what Novell's partner would have gone through. UNCLE agents were legendary for being close. But then, so often it was just the two of you against the world. There had been so many times when he'd thought Napoleon . . . memories assailed him. Terrible, terrible memories -- feeling Napoleon's blood seeping slowly through his fingers swarmed back to him. Memories of him cursing himself for possessing nothing more than routine knowledge of first aid, of being able to do nothing more than pack his own shirt into his partner's belly to keep him from bleeding to death. That had all ended when he'd reached mandatory retirement and opted out of UNCLE for the fast track at medical school. He huffed out a breath . . . opted out. As if any of them, once their oaths had been given, ever really opted out of either UNCLE or their partnerships.

But surprisingly, he'd found another passion and the longer he stayed in the medical field, the more it called to him, encouraging him to forget his globe-trotting wild adventures and learn to speak for those who no longer had a voice. Donald Mallard didn't regret a moment of his decision to leave Illya Kuryakin behind and forge a new identity. But sometimes, as he'd been forcibly reminded, he missed standing at Napoleon's shoulder, keeping the world safe.

"Dr. Mallard?"

Ducky was startled from his reverie by the voice of his assistant. "Sorry, Mr. Palmer, wool gathering…"

"Is that the same as daydreaming?"

He gave Palmer what he hoped was a smile more filled with Ducky's good humor rather than Illya's pessimism. "A close relative," he finally said.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

"Talk to me, Abs," Gibbs said, walking into the lab. He glanced around, finally locating the young woman hunched over a microscope. "Where's Singleton?"

"Dunno, he wandered off awhile ago, bored I think. He's a sharp dresser and a wicked flirt," she added with a leer, "but I don't think he's comfortable with anything that was invented after the 1960's. Kind of like someone else I know," she added. Straightening, she grinned at Gibbs, who glumly stared back at her. "You look like you could use a hug." She stretched out her arms and wound them tightly around the older agent.

"You have no idea, Abs," he murmured into an earring bedecked ear. For some reason, it was always easier to let his guard down with her, easier to let the softer side of Gibbs emerge, blinking in the sudden light of day. Reluctantly pulling away, he re-established the proper distance between them. "Have you found anything?"

"I went over everything in the briefcase for fingerprints and managed to lift a few. That's the good news. Bad news is that I haven't got any hits off of IAFIS yet, but it's early, so I'm hopeful. I was going over the inside of the briefcase and managed to find this."

Abby punched in a few keystrokes and a small drop of red liquid appeared. "I found it on the inside of the case."

"Is that blood?" he asked.

"Got it in one. I found trace on one of folders. Somebody got a papercut and left a drop of blood behind."

"Did you cross reference it with the sample from our DB?"

"Checked and double checked, it's not a match."

"So whoever left that was responsible for putting those blackmail documents into the briefcase."

"Yup! And you wanna guess who the blood came back a match to? Come on, guess!" She bounced lightly on her toes, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Who, Abs?" Gibbs's voice held a resigned sound that made the tech wince.

"This will cheer you up!" She paused, then added, "Or give you a serious case of indigestion." She hit a number of key strokes and a very familiar picture appeared upon the screen. Gibbs stared at it for a long time, his mouth working noiselessly.

"I'll be a son of a…"

"Yup," Abby said, cheerfully, delighting in her little bombshell. "As they say in the old movies, the plot thickens!"

On the large plasma screen, the image of Eli David, Director of Mossad, stared back at them.


	6. Chapter 6

Many thanks to steamfan for the beta magic. Commas are evil.

**  
Past and Present Affair  
Chapter 6  
****by Myrina and Uncle Charlie**

The rain that had been threatening all morning finally arrived, pounding against the plate glass windows of NICS headquarters with a nervous tattoo. It did nothing more than deepen the already somber mood of the agents as they each sat at their desks, punching letters and numbers into their phones or computers. Still, nothing revealed itself as to the mysterious Mr. Singleton's identity other than what had already been discovered.

The elevators doors opened and Gibbs stormed out, a man on a mission. All three of the special agents focused their attention upon their desk tops, but that did not stop him from stopping in front of one.

"Officer David."

"Gibbs."

"You want to tell me why your father's blood is on the inside of that briefcase?" The blank stare the woman returned told him what he wanted to know. "How is your father connected with Singleton?"

Ziva shrugged, her hands up in the air. "I have no idea, sir. It's a bit before my time.

While it was true that father and daughter were not what anyone would classify as close, Gibbs had been hoping for a lucky break. "He's never mentioned Singleton or Hargrove Imports?"

Ziva met Gibbs's eyes directly. "Not to my knowledge, but my father is not what I would classify as an accessible man. He keeps his secrets buried deeply."

"Damn it, Ziva. Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?"

"There's a priest involved now?" McGee muttered.

"That's a quote from _Becket_," Tony murmured back. "Richard Burton, Peter O'Toole, John Gielgud, released 1964, directed by…" He trailed off at Gibbs's smack to the back of his head. "Thank you, boss, but you already knew that, didn't you boss?"

Gibbs happened to glance up at that moment and saw Singleton standing at the top of the stairs. With a burst of energy, he took them two at a time and reached for Singleton's elbow.

"Mr. Singleton, we need to talk." Gibbs resisted the urge to push the other man into the interrogation room as he led the man away. For his part, Singleton nodded.

"Yes, I rather wondered when we'd get around to having a tete-a-tete."

As Gibbs headed in the direction of the interrogation rooms, his three field officers sprang to life, hurrying after them. This was likely to be the biggest thing to happen in the building since Gibbs had a go round with Fornell.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Gibbs pushed the door closed behind him as he studied Singleton. Most men would be exhibiting at least some signs of concern at this point but the other man was looking around with a calm and relaxed air. It was that "I'm in total control" air that really rubbed Gibbs the wrong way. Nobody was that self-confident . . . at least not in his presence.

"Ah, the old throwing the suspect in the interrogation room ploy." Singleton tapped one the legs of the table with his cane and grinned widely. "Nicer than some I've been in. There was one in Calcutta . . . ." Singleton trailed off, his right hand rubbing at his left wrist. Abruptly, he shrugged. "But that was long ago and I find that my stories are never quite as entertaining as Dr. Mallard's." He indicated one of the chairs in the room. "Do you mind if I sit? I find that standing for long periods of time is rather tiring."

Gibbs sank into one chair and gestured to the other. Singleton slid into it gracefully, taking a moment to adjust the crease in his expensive tailor-made pants, brush at an imaginary bit of lint upon a lapel and then pat his hair. Obviously, this was a man who was took great pride in his appearance.

"That's a nice suit, Mr. Singleton."

"Thank you. I have them made for me by a very nice little tailor in New York - Del Floria's." He looked over at the mirror that lined one wall. "That's D-e-l F-lo-r-i-a, Agent McGee, as I'm sure your accessing his website as we speak. While you are looking at the site, you might want to consider something in a nice charcoal grey for yourself."

Behind the glass, McGee locked startled eyes with DiNozzo.

"Lucky guess, Probie," DiNozzo said. "Don't let him rattle you."

Gibbs, feeling his control of the situation starting to slip, attempted to redirect the conversation back to where he wanted it. "You're good, I give you that Singleton. Very, very good." Part of Gibbs wished the man wasn't. He got the distinct impression that Singleton was humoring him, a fact that just served to make him even more annoyed. Singleton's next words seemed to confirm that fact.

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs. I've found over the years that in an interrogation, it counts to maintain a certain level of decorum and politeness. But then, I understand from our common friend, that you are also very good at your job."

"How do you know _our common friend_?"

Singleton's eyebrows went up, possibly in surprise at the direction the questioning was taking. "So the interrogation begins with the unexpected question. Excellent opening gambit." Singleton gave him a small nod of his head in acknowledgement and recognition, and Gibbs once again felt that he was losing control.

"We were introduced a very long time ago," Singleton said, finally answering the question.

"Ducky said that he was assigned as a liaison officer to your company. I didn't think the British Army did that sort of thing."

Singleton seemed to consider that. "You will have to take up what the British do and don't do with them. But as for the good doctor, yes," he said, "I suppose he was, in a manner of speaking. He started out in the London branch of the company and as such was just a liaison; and a rather junior one at that. Oh, yes, those early days . . . settling in, making friends, getting to really know his fellow employees." Singleton's expression changed as he continued, as if there was some joke that Gibbs wasn't privy too. "But then you know Dr. Mallard, gregarious, engaging, polite almost to a fault. The London office just loved him."

As Gibbs knew Ducky to be all those things, he didn't understand what Singleton found so amusing about it. "You met Ducky then."

"I met him after he was re-assigned . . . to me, in fact. A move that was engineered by our former supervisor and one that neither Dr. Mallard nor myself were altogether too sure about. But in that, as in most things, it never paid to doubt the Old Man. He was invariably correct and Dr. Mallard, liaison became my partner, and later he became much more than that."

Gibbs watch as the man's smile shifted once again to something that looked like DiNozzo's when he spoke of spring break or college girls, and suddenly Gibbs felt a well of possessiveness boil up in him. _Ducky was __**his**__ friend. And how second grade does that sound?_ he chastised himself. A man could have more than one friend, after all. He had several himself, but never one as close as Duck. Those kinds of friendships came along only once in a lifetime.

Gibbs found himself staring into sharp hazel eyes and realized with a sudden surge of embarrassed anger that Singleton knew exactly what he was thinking, and had once again taken control and veered the conversation off topic. _Son of a bitch!_

"Dr. Mallard oversaw the testing on the briefcase?" It suddenly seemed safer to study his coffee cup than Singleton's eyes.

Singleton chuckled softly and Gibbs knew Singleton knew what he was doing. "It was his field of expertise, or so our CEO at the time supposed."

"I thought you were the CEO."

The other man lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I am now. Then, I was but the newest member of a governing board of five. But the tests didn't go well. A man died in a careless accident and that's when we officially lost Dr. Mallard. Although I believe that was just the final straw that settled the question for him. He is not one to suffer fools, as we both know. He reported back his findings, and while it was enough to scrap the project, even after having spent millions upon it, it wasn't enough to keep him there."

"You just let him walk away."

"Of course. After all that we had been through and shared, I owed him that. I didn't agree with him then or now, but I've always trusted him. No matter what, no matter when, I've always trusted him with my life."

"Have you?" Gibbs skepticism was easy to hear.

Singleton gave him a poignant smile. "There was a time when I trusted him to torture me almost to death."

Gibbs wanted to snap back a reply but there was something in the quiet words that held his tongue and sent a chill down his back. Singleton was telling the truth, though Gibbs found it almost impossible to imagine Ducky involved in torturing anyone, much less under what kind of circumstances such an occurrence could have occurred. Gibbs finally said, "Those other interrogation rooms."

Singleton's smile brightened, though his eyes remained shadowed. "Like I said, not all of them were as nice as this one."

"Was Dr. Mallard there with you in those other interrogation rooms?"

"Frequently, though his claim to fame was more in the timely arrivals as opposed to actual time spent." Singleton studied Gibbs for a long moment and then leaned forward. "You're a retired Marine, aren't you?" He waited for the nod. "You have that Semper Fi sense to you, that's how I know. Permit me to add this to your very confused mix of information, Agent Gibbs. The connection that ties you to your fellow Marines is _nothing_ to that which binds Dr. Mallard to me and me to him. It is unshakable, impenetrable and constant." He let his eyes wander from Gibbs' face for a moment and then brought them back up to stare directly into the other man's eyes. "I am quite aware that you don't like me Agent Gibbs, and I am also aware that you don't trust me. I sit here though, and answer your questions and hold my tongue out of respect for that man downstairs. However, Agent Gibbs, you seem to be working under a rather large false assumption."

"And what would that be?"

"That you have the right to ask, and conversely that I have any obligation to answer, your questions. So, if you have a question that is not related to Dr. Mallard, now would be the time to ask it, or I shall be taking my leave of you."

Inside the darkened observation room, the three agents shared equally shocked looks. "He's joking," McGee muttered, a nervous giggle edging his speech. "No one walks out on Gibbs during an interrogation."

"True, but I wouldn't exactly call this an interrogation. I'm thinking Gibbs was fishing as much as Singleton is casting." Tony rubbed the back of his head, frowning, thinking about the earlier exchange. There was something very uncorporate America about the discussion Singleton had had with their ME.

"A fishing analogy?" Ziva tried to make the leap from questioning to recreational sports. At times, American law enforcement made no sense to her.

"Not exactly," Tony said. "Listen, I've got something to do. I'll be right back. If Gibbs asks, cover for me." He slid out of the observation room before either of his other colleagues could raise a protest.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Gibbs felt a growl rising up in his chest at the sheer audacity of the man. Pulling out a 5x7 photo from his jacket pocket, he forcefully slid the picture across the table.

Singleton gave it a single glance before returning his gaze back to Gibbs. "Ah, Eli David. Current Director of Israeli Intelligence. Dependable, trustworthy to a point, but he likes his games of manipulation a little too much for my tastes."

"Eli David was the person who sent the blackmail photos." Gibbs waited to see what kind of reaction that statement would produce in Singleton and was disappointed when the other man said nothing immediately.

The words rang in Ziva's ears as she rushed from the room to catch Tony by the elevator.

"Tony, where are you going?"

"The can," he lied easily.

"The bathrooms are in the other direction." she said, her words thick with sarcasm.

He took a step backwards toward the elevator doors. "I don't like the ones on this floor. They attract the wrong crowds."

She crossed her arms in front of her, eyes narrowed. "You're going to confront Ducky about this, aren't you?" she accused.

"So what if I am?" Tony snapped. "He's making Gibbs look like a fool in there, Ziva. Have you ever seen Gibbs that off-balance during an interrogation?"

"Gibbs is a seasoned investigator and a grown man, He can take care of himself, Tony."

"All of this is your father's fault."

"And that makes this my fault then, I suppose? I wasn't even born when all this happened. My father was a young, foolish, and idealistic man."

"He still is, except for the young part." Tony found himself pinned against the elevator, the tip of Ziva's finger beneath his chin.

"One flick of my finger and you die, Agent DiNozzo. Is that what you want?" Tony's protest came out as a soft whine of panic. She released him and stepped away. "Go on your fool's errand. You will get no more out of Ducky than Gibbs did. I have a feeling that we are severely out graded in this event."

"Out classed, Ziva," Tony corrected automatically.

"That, too." She turned and walked back into the observation room. Entering the room she snapped, "What did I miss?" to McGee.

"Nothing much," McGee stammered. An angry Ziva David always made him nervous. Unlike Tony, he'd never been able to just forget that Ziva could kill him in a dozen different ways. When Ziva didn't answer, Tim took a slow, sliding step away from her. _It's always wiser to err on the side of caution_, he reasoned.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

On the other side of the one-way mirror Singleton sighed, a sound of annoyance more than anything else. "I'm not sure what it is that you are attempting to get at, Agent Gibbs. Yes, Eli David sent the pictures. Yes, he was sending them to my organization. I'm hardly going to dispute those facts. However, the rather significant point that I think you are failing to grasp Agent Gibbs, is that the photos were not sent, nor were they ever meant to be used, as blackmail."

"Have you seen those photos, Mr. Singleton?" Gibbs snapped. "What else could they be used for?"

"The photos were being brought to us for disposal so that they couldn't be used for blackmail. We were the only organization that could be trusted. We thought that when we lost Novell, the photos died with him Now that these photos have unfortunately resurfaced, we will take the steps that were supposed to have been taken so many years ago. We will take them and make sure that they never again see the light of day. I am assuming I can depend upon you to eliminate any copies that your impetuous young agents might have made in the meantime. While I don't think that they would cause quite the stir that they might have thirty years ago -- the world being a much different place back then -- they could still cause quite a few problems for many people."

"And how do I know that you can be trusted, Mr. Singleton? Am I just supposed to believe your charming smile?"

Singleton's charming smile grew a little broader in obvious amusement. "Think of me as an avuncular relative, a kindly old uncle that you trust just because you do. Also, you have no choice, as I am sure that your director has already informed you. My associates will arrive in the morning to collect package and parcel. I'm sorry that we had to meet like this, Agent Gibbs. That had not been my original intention when I decided to involve myself in this affair."

"And what were your intentions?"

"I assure you, they were harmless enough. I wished only to meet with an old friend whom I don't get to see nearly as much I'd like, and to meet the people with whom he surrounds himself. I want to like you out of respect for the man I know Donald Mallard to be, but I fear it is not in the stars. You and I, we are too much alike. We both want to win. I will tell you this, Agent Gibbs. You are the closest friend Donald Mallard has. You depend on him. I can tell you that he depends on you as well."

"How far?"

"Far enough to suit your purpose. As I said before, he is not a man to suffer fools. Don't appear foolish to him, Agent Gibbs. His loyalty is unshakable, his commitments long term, but even he has his limits. You push too hard or too far and you'll lose him, just as my company did.

"And you, too?"

"Me? Never. I've invested far too much energy and time to ever jeopardize that relationship. I would never ask him to choose. That way is a fool's path and I think you are beginning to see what that could mean to you both." Singleton stood, gingerly for a man of his years. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to have dinner with my old friend, we are going to waste the evening reminiscing about days gone by, and tomorrow I shall return. If you would be good enough to save any other questions you might have until then, my leg sincerely would appreciate it." He walked to the door and left, Gibbs followed in Singleton's trail, his face a combination of concern, surprise and sheer amazement at the man's moxie.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Tony stepped from the elevator just in time to see Ducky shrugging into his overcoat.

"Done for the day, Ducky?"

"The dead have told me all that they intend to upon this dreary night, Anthony. Both they, and I, need a rest."

Tony bounced on his toes, trying to figure out a way to bring up what he knew was going to be a touchy subject. "So, big plans tonight?"

"Just an opportunity to visit with an old friend, spin a few tales, and gather a bit of wool."

And there was his opening. Tony's voice held a bitter edge when he said, "Yea, well, your old friend is up there making Gibbs look like a second-rate field agent."

Ducky's eyes widened in surprise. "I highly doubt that, Mr. DiNozzo, although Nathan does have his moments. I remember there was a time in Singapore. There was a beautiful girl…with Nathan, there was always a beautiful girl involved…"

"Doesn't it matter to you how he's making Gibbs look?" Tony interrupted.

"Apparently not as much as it does to you, my dear boy." Ducky set his hat upon his head, settled it once and turned to walk away, only to be stopped as Dinozzo grabbed his arm. While the forearm beneath his hand was old, Tony was still surprised at the strength he felt corded within it.

"Doesn't it even bother you that they're fighting over you like you're some old girlfriend?"

Ducky jerked his arm free. "Excuse me?"

"Think about it, Ducky, it's like you're caught between your ex and your missus."

"I beg your pardon." There was no way to escape the icy tone the ME's voice had assumed. "Just what are you inferring, Agent DiNozzo?"

It was as if the innuendo of his words suddenly occurred to him for the first time and DiNozzo stopped, taking a step backwards, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment. "Jesus, Ducky, I didn't mean it that way . . .I mean, I did, but not like . . . you know . . . that."

The ME's eyes had taken on the same glacial tones that frosted his words. "No, Agent DiNozzo, I don't."

Tony ran a hand through his hair and sighed, looking a bit like a lost lamb and Ducky took pity upon him. "Anthony, if you have learnt anything from Jethro, surely it is that his tenacity is legendary. He will worry this like a bone until he is satisfied. As for Nathan, if Jethro is allowing Nathan to lead him around by the nose, then that is his doing. While your loyalty to him is commendable, Gibbs does not need rescuing. I can also assure you that it will take more than a misplaced word or action by another to destroy the friendship we have."

"It didn't a while ago." The words were out of Tony's mouth before he could stop them.

"He left," Ducky snapped. That wound was still too fresh to be born with ease. The betrayal and isolation he'd experienced when Gibbs had suddenly retired without so much as a good-bye still threatened to boil over. Try as he might, he still felt hurt by his friend's omission and knew, with some small bit of satisfaction that Gibbs was now seeing the incident from his point of view.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Singleton paused before the elevator and the doors opened to reveal Tony DiNozzo and Ducky standing there. Ducky had his overcoat and hat already on, umbrella at the ready. Tony slipped out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened.

"Are you finished?" Ducky asked coldly, his words clipped and precise, as he shifting his attention from Singleton to Gibbs and his team and back to Singleton.

"Uh, oh. I've been busted. Now, Ducky-" Singleton tried to head off the storm he could see brewing.

The ME interrupted him. "If the phrase, 'he started it' comes out of your mouth, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

Singleton, knowing he had an audience at his back, stifled a laugh. God, he had missed Illya, and the angry man before him was definitely more Illya Kuryakin than Donald Mallard. With that realization was born a brilliant, if he did say so himself, plan.

"No," he countered graciously, "I believe I started it." Taking a small step forward, he dropped his voice. "They . . . Gibbs, is concerned. They fear losing you and see me as a threat."

Ducky's gaze softened fractionally although only someone who knew him very well could have told the difference. "And are you not afraid of losing me?" he asked, just as softly.

"Never." It was said simply and with such complete and total honesty that it melted the last of the ice in Ducky's eyes.

Singleton leaned to the side and pushed the elevator button and right as it dinged, he grasped Ducky by the shoulders. Leaning forward he planted an exaggerated kiss on both of Ducky's cheeks, Russian style. "I'll wait for you downstairs. Go tell them whatever they need to hear, just remember your oaths."

With that, he stepped around a stunned Dr. Mallard, and into the open elevator. Giving a jaunty wave back to the four astonished federal agents, Singleton called out, "Until tomorrow, Agent Gibbs."

Ducky met the eyes of his teammates and noticed the ear-to-ear grin on Tony's face. "Not a word, Mr. DiNozzo. Not a single word."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Dr. Mallard," Tony said with a grin.

A grin, Ducky decided, the very much resembled Napoleon's. He was going to kill Napoleon when he got hold of him. Although, he really shouldn't be surprised. The other man was forever leaving him in these kinds of predicaments. "Well, don't just stand there," Ducky said as he pulled off his hat and started down the hallway. "The interrogation room is this way."

Stepping into the first interrogation room, Ducky ignored the others filing into the room as he studied a photograph lying on the table.

"You know him?" Gibbs asked from the doorway.

"Eli David, Director of Mossad." Ducky gave a nod of his head in Ziva's direction, and added, "And Ziva's father."

Something in Gibb's gut squirmed at the situation. This wasn't an interrogation and yet, it felt like one, and like Singleton, Ducky seemed to be far too much at ease with the process. But even his unease didn't stop him from forging forward. "Abby found evidence to suggest that he was the person that sent the blackmail photos."

"Nonsense. They weren't being used as blackmail. The photos were being passed to those who could be trusted to deal with them accordingly."

"You want to explain that." Gibbs shot back.

Settling his hat on the table, Ducky shrugged out of his overcoat and thought up various ways the was going to make Napoleon pay for this. Only when he was comfortably leaning against the table, did he sweep his eyes across the four agents ranged around him. "Shut the door, Jethro," he said quietly.

As the door clicked closed, he said, "I'd like to blame Nathan for this, but I suppose that we would have come to this point eventually anyway."

"What exactly is _this_?" Ziva asked, her tone sharp. "And how does my father fit into it?"

"Calm down, my dear. In this, your father has done nothing wrong." Ducky paused, gathering his thoughts. "The company for which Nathan works does business with many foreign countries and organizations. One of its functions is acting like a clearinghouse between organizations or governments that do not officially speak to each other. Thirty years ago, Eli David was something of an associate, sort of a second cousin, once removed. He was tasked with forwarding the information."

McGee was frowning as he puzzled through the implications. "They're a political Interpol?"

"In many ways, yes."

"Why haven't we ever heard of them?" Tony asked.

Ducky laughed. "If you were one of the governments in question, would you advertise that you were on speaking terms with your most hated political adversary through a third party? Let me give you an example that might help you understand. In the early 60's, a terrorist organization had developed a spore that attacked and destroyed wheat crops. It was used against the Soviet grain belt. Thousands would have died of starvation if it hadn't been stopped. When investigated, it was determined that the spore was delivered by a US rocket. The US, of course, denied any involvement. However there were rumors that a second rocket was being prepared for launch with the Soviet Union preparing a nuclear strike against the United States in retaliation if such an attack occurred."

"World War III," McGee breathed out quietly.

"Quite right," Ducky said. "You must remember, this was the height of the Cold War. Nathan's company was asked to step in as a neutral party between the United States and the Soviet Union because neither side trusted the other."

"What happened?" Tony asked.

"The terrorists were revealed and the world was saved." Ducky reached back and gathered up his coat and hat. He gave them all a fond look and added, "And Nathan became the first US citizen to ever receive a Hero of the Soviet Union medal. Now, if you will excuse me, I am late for dinner."

The four agents followed Ducky from the room the room and watched as he boarded the elevators. Gibbs barely waited for the elevator doors to close before snapping his finger. "Follow them, DiNozzo."

"You want me to follow Ducky, boss?"

"No, I want you to follow Singleton. If Ducky just happens to be with him, then so much the better." Gibbs held up a finger. "You keep him safe, DiNozzo. If that crazy old man harms one hair on Ducky's head, I'll have your guts for garters, do you understand me?"

"But-" Tony started in confusion then stopped himself at Gibbs' glare. No matter what Ducky had just said, Gibbs wasn't going to let this go. "Gotcha, boss," he finally said, going to grab his gun out of the drawer.

"McGee, I want audio and visual on him."

"Understood." McGee glanced around his desk until he found a small blue case. Pulling out a tiny camera, he held it up to Tony. "Clip it to your cap, Tony. And be careful, it's very expensive. It took me forever to get this one approved."

"Yea, okay, whatever," Dinozzo muttered, slipping in an earpiece. He had a bad feeling about this and wasn't sure that Gibbs' insistence was right on this one. But Gibbs ordered and Tony obeyed. Doing one last check, he headed for the emergency stairs and hoped he beat Ducky outside.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Ducky stepped out of the elevator into the lobby of NCIS headquarters to find Nathan sitting comfortably in a chair, waiting on him as he said he would.

"Everything okay?" Singleton asked.

"Other than your impending demise? We shall see," Ducky answered. "Should we take the Morgan?" Ducky asked, reaching into his pocket for his keys. He was very proud of the car, having rebuilt much of it from the ground up.

"Perhaps, in view of the night's events, my car might be better," Singleton said as the two stepped out into the rain. Ducky unfurled his umbrella so they both could have shelter from the elements. Heading deeper into the parking lot, they didn't see Agent DiNizzo come out of a side exit and station himself behind a dark sedan. As the two walked, Singleton raised his hand and a few moments later a stretch limo that had obviously been waiting pulled up before him.

Two black-suited individuals leapt out of the car, one hurrying to open the door to the back of the limo while the other stood in wary vigilance, his eyes scanning the parking lot.

_Crap_, Tony thought, ducking down so as to not be seen. Trying to keep a low profile and thanking the dark, rainy night, he focused his binoculars across the parking lot.

"Fredricks , Govan, you remember Mr. Kuryakin," Napoleon said.

"Mr. Kuryakin," Fredricks said with a short nod of his head. "How are you, sir? It's good to see you looking well."

"Please, called me Ducky," the ME advised, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. "We are still far too close to NCIS headquarters, Mr. Singleton."

Napoleon took the rebuke graciously. "Of course, my mistake."

Keeping himself well hidden in the shadows, Tony reported in. "I have them, boss. A stretch limo, looks to be heavily plated, bullet-proof glass and two goons -- all the fixings of a man used to taking precautions." He squinted through the binoculars, focusing them upon the lips of the closest man. "They're talking about something…curry, it looks like."

"Must be asking about restaurants," Ziva said, watching the slightly grainy visual that her co-worker provided. "Dr. Mallard seems very relaxed and not on his guard."

"License plate, DiNozzo? Gibbs asked.

Tony focused the binoculars to the tail end of the limo. "DC plates. P3X-765"

"On it," McGee called from his desk, already beginning to run his search.

"They're starting to move."

"Follow them, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered.

"Following, boss."

Gibbs attention turned to the agents still with him. "McGee?"

"Getting the information now. Car is registered to a . . " his voice trailed off as he read through the screen information.

"McGee!" Gibbs' barked, impatience coloring his voice.

McGee jumped as if stung and Ziva, standing next to him, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Car is registered to a nightclub called The Masque Club. High-end. Exclusive. Invitation-only memberships. Corporate offices are in New York with about a half dozen other locations scattered around the world -- DC, Paris, London, Mumbai, just to name a few. I can't access the member lists. It's locked out."

"Then get Abby and hack in."

As McGee grabbed his laptop and scurried away, Ziva studied their pacing leader. "Hacking an organization's private files. Do you think you might be overreacting?"

Gibbs spun on her. "I'm not overreacting until I know exactly what is going on. None of this adds up."

"Or is it that you simply don't like the way in which it adds up?"

Gibbs stared at her for a minute and then snapped, "Go help McGee and Abby."

Shaking her head, Ziva headed for the elevators muttering imprecations in Hebrew as she went.

**MFU-UNCLE-MFU**

Standing in the circle of empty desks, Gibbs took a deep breath, willing a sense of calm. This whole case was getting personal and he knew he didn't always deal well with the personal. But damn, if he could let this go. Thinking furiously, he reached for his phone. From memory, he punched in a number.

From the speaker, a tinny voice said, "Fornell."

"Hello, Tobias."

There was a split second pause, and then a somewhat resigned sounding Fornell said, "Jethro, to what to I owe this pleasure?"

"Your boss talk to you about what's going on down here?"

"Uh huh, and he didn't pull any punches, as I'm sure yours didn't,"

"And how's that sitting with you, Fornell?"

"It sucks, Gibbs, but what do you do?"

"You make it unsuck, Tobias." Gibbs answered.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "And how do you do that, Jethro?"

"The Masque Club, headquartered in New York City, branch of it here in DC. You heard of it?"

Gibbs heard the squeak of Fornell's desk chair through the phone and could almost picture the man leaning backwards from his desk. "Look Gibbs, The Masque Club is one of the most exclusive, and secretive, clubs in DC. The membership we've been able to identify includes ambassadors, senators, and the occasional government leader. As a place, it's considered to be a political and ideological neutral territory. What goes on behind those closed doors, stays there."

"You expect me to believe that? I want the client list, Fornell."

"No."

"Fornell." And then it hit him. The FBI really didn't have a full client list. _Who in the hell are these people_, he wondered. _And just how did Ducky get mixed in_. "How many times have you tried to bug the place?" Gibbs finally asked.

Fornell snorted in disgust. "We've tried placing one of our people in there a half-dozen different times and tried to plant even more bugs. Our people are always turned away, and the bugs go dead within an hour of being placed. Whoever owns it has it tied up tighter than a drunk on a three-day binge."

"Colorful, Fornell, but not helpful. I want to know who the clients are. Give me what you have."

"Not worth my pension, Gibbs, sorry. " The line went dead and Gibbs frowned at the receiver, shaking it as it that would bring it back to life. When that didn't work, hung it back up, only to have it ring the moment he did. He snatched it up, "Gibbs."

"Boss, Abby and I might have something."

"Might, McGee?"

"Yes boss, might."

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Gibbs walked through the glass doors of the lab, smiling when the music decibels were actually within reasonable levels for a change. In his hand he carried a cup of coffee and a Caf-Pow, Abby's addiction of choice. Both McGee and Abby glanced up as he approached and Abby bounced towards him, her hands already out to receive his gift. Instead, he tucked it behind his back.

"You said you had something?"

Affecting a pout at her withheld caffeine, Abby said, "We ran the site though a couple buffering sites and then slammed it with this new decoding software that is still in the testing stages."

Gibbs brought the Caf-Pow cup around to his front and waved it in front of her. "Some time tonight, Abby."

She grabbed for the drink. "We weren't able to get access to the records for long, but we I found something that might not exactly help us, but is definitely interesting."

McGee took up his part in the narrative. "We were able to copy part of their event archives before we were detected and shut down." McGee's face took on a worried cast. "You might be hearing about that. Someone definitely knew we were there and I'm fairly sure we were traced."

"Don't care," Gibbs ground out. "What about these event archives?"

"We weren't able to get any recent ones," Abby began.

"Just some really old stuff." Tim finished for her.

"Paint dries faster than this, McGee." Gibbs interrupted.

"Oh, but Gibbs, you are going to like this one." Abby's eyes were lit up with a maniacal gleam. "It's almost as good as finding Eli David's blood in the briefcase." Abby typed in several keystrokes and a black and white photo appeared on the screen. "We found this."

It was a candid shot, perfectly lit and in focus. In it a younger Nathan Singleton, dressed impeccably in a black tuxedo, sat back in a leather chair. Perched on one arm of the chair, was Dr. Mallard, attired in an equally tasteful tuxedo. Singleton was looking back and up at Ducky, while Ducky was leaning forward, braced with one hand on Singleton's shoulder. The background of the photo showed some kind of party in progress but the two men were oblivious to either the party circulating around them or to the camera taking their picture.

----------------------------------------------------

**  
Author's Notes:**

The inside joke were Napoleon is laughing at describing Dr. Mallard as gregarious, engaging, polite almost to a fault and how the London office just loved him is because Illya Kuryakin in the Man from Uncle was typically rude, impatient, and very sarcastic.

The Story that Singleton tells Gibbs about allowing Ducky to torture him almost to death is from the Man from UNCLE episode: **The Gurnius Affair.** _Original airdate: November 27, 1967._ In it, Illya is undercover as a neo-Nazi. Napoleon has been captured and Illya has been ordered to torture him for information. Illya, keeping to his cover, goes through with the torture until he and Napoleon can fake Napoleon's early demise_._

The story that Ducky tells about the terrorist plot to destroy the wheat crop and send the world into WWIII is from the Man From UNCLE episode: **The Neptune Affair.** _Original airdate: December 8, 1964._ In the episode we get to see Illya dressed in a Soviet officer's uniform as he's been called home to the Soviet Union to prepare for war.


	7. Chapter 7

Once again, thanks to steamfan for stepping forward to beta. It makes the story so much easier to read without all those pesky mistakes. Not to mention she a stickler for speaking tags. If it wasn't for her, you'd never know who was speaking in the story.

* * *

**Past and Present Affair  
****Chapter 7  
**by Myrina and Uncle Charlie

Napoleon closed his eyes with a sigh, relaxing back into the leather of the limo's cushions.

Ducky eyed him, noting his body language and the lines of strain around his eyes. "Your leg is bothering you again, isn't it?"

"It's nothing," Napoleon protested.

Ducky reached over with a long-standing, casual familiarity and laid his hand on Napoleon's thigh. He didn't need to see the other man's leg in order to picture the long, jagged scar that started up near Napoleon's hip and curved down across the front of his leg along to his knee. Digging his fingers in carefully, he probed the tight muscle beneath his hand. For his part, Napoleon allowed the examination,not even bothering to open his eyes.

"You know, I don't usually allow this sort of thing on the first date," he said dryly and then grunted softly as Ducky hit a particularly tender spot. "The least you could do is buy me dinner and some flowers first."

Not bothering to answer, Ducky continued his careful probing. "Have you been keeping up with your exercises?"

"Yes, I've been doing the damn exercises. If I don't, half of Medical comes to camp out in my office. Illya, really, it's nothing."

"Napoleon, you almost lost that leg."

Napoleon's eyes opened and his hand came up to lie on top of Ducky's. "Really, it's nothing. I've been on my feet more than usual today. That's all." Seeking to reestablish the more relaxed atmosphere from earlier, he sought a distraction. "So tell me, were you able to calm your co-workers concerns?"

Ducky, well aware of what Napoleon was doing, allowed himself to be distracted. "Oh, that reminds me." Ducky removed his hand from Napoleon's leg and punched him on the shoulder.

"Ow!" Napoleon rubbed the offended shoulder. "What was that for?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You kissed me."

Napoleon shot him an unrepentant grin. "I did, didn't I? It was a good Russian kiss."

"And they think I'm Scottish. I swear, you delight in putting me in the most ridiculous predicaments. And don't think I don't realize that you did it deliberately for Jethro's benefit. You have had entirely too much fun annoying him."

"I know. Forgive me. I'll play nice tomorrow when we go back in to collect the evidence. So, what's your poison tonight, my friend, Seasons, Rupperts, Goldonis?"

"How about Gerard's Place? Fairly nouvelle French cuisine," Ducky offered

"Sounds appetizing enough . . . who's turn is it to pay?"

"Mine, Napoleon."

"Then it sounds great," Solo said, slapping his hands together.

Ducky grinned at him. "Apparently, some things never change."

Napoleon, using the end of his cane, reached forward and tapped on the partition dividing the front and back of the limo. "Dinner has been decided on, Mr. Govan. If you would be so kind as to take us to Gerard's Place."

"Of course, sir."

Settling back into his seat, Ducky studied his old friend. Now that Napoleon was away from prying eyes, even those of his bodyguards, an almost imperceptible mask had dropped from the other man. A mask that Ducky was quite sure very few people ever even realized was there. The easy charm, womanizing, and swaggering personality were real, but only to an extent, and they hid a man with far greater depths than most ever realized. What he did know for certain was that he was the only person still alive that Napoleon trusted enough to let down his guard with.

It wasn't that Ducky didn't understand that ingrained need for caution. He trusted Gibbs and his team implicitly. They were all good and true friends, but it was only with Napoleon that the man he used to be emerged. He'd been Ducky for so long now that he could go days without thinking of himself as Illya. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd dreamed in Russian. But with Napoleon, it only took the man's presence for the Ducky persona to become in truth more a persona and less the man.

He found the transition between Ducky and Illya jarring at times, his new life being so very different from his old. He'd contemplated severing all ties more than once over the years and simply _becoming_ Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard. Napoleon would have let him go if he'd asked, if that was what he'd really wanted, but then he'd meet with his former partner and his own masks, ones he'd forgotten he was even wearing, would drop away like a suit jacket that was just slightly too tight. He'd stretch then, remembering what it felt like to be himself and all thoughts of severing those ties would go away for a while.

Just as Ducky had contemplated dropping his old life, he'd also considered coming clean with his new. Jethro could be counted on to keep his silence and to understand, he knew that. They were all good people, but every time he came close to revealing his secrets, he'd decided against it. Although sometimes, he thought it would have been nice to have someone there know – to realize that he wasn't quite the dotty, old eccentric that everyone thought him to be.

That thought made Ducky curious to know what Napoleon had made of his friends. Twisting slightly, he angled himself to more fully face Napoleon. "So are you satisfied with your trip, Napoleon? Were my new friends what you expected?"

"Your tales of them didn't do them justice and I can see why they fit you so well."

Now Ducky was curious indeed. Napoleon had always been able to see people in ways that he had never been able to. "And what did you see in them?"

"I saw you, of course."

"Me?" Ducky asked in surprise.

"Long term deep cover is never easy. It takes its toll on the psyche, as you well know. It forces you to give up parts of yourself. I saw those parts of you in them. It's why you fit in with them." At Illya's confused look, Napoleon sought to explain. "You were a scientist, torvarisch, and Miss Scuito engages that in you. Not to mention," he added with a smile, "you always seemed to have an affinity for the counterculture. She appeals to that part of you."

"I liked jazz. It was hardly counterculture."

"In 1964 it was. How many times did I find you in some dive bar surrounded by hippies and beatniks and God knows who else? Face it my friend, you have a subversive streak which Goth girl appeals to. Now, young McGee, he reminds me of you those first years in New York. You were so very innocent and so determined that you would not be corrupted by the West."

"You mean corrupted by you." A wry smile crossed Ducky's face. "I was a KGB trained assassin, Napoleon. I hardly think that innocent is the right word and it's been a long time since I've been the good communist."

"Nevertheless, you were an innocent. Trust me, I know these things." While Illya shook his head in complete disbelief, Napoleon continued, warming to his subject. "Now, Miss David is easy. She is almost a mirror of you at your most dangerous -- prickly, defiant, lethal, and always underestimated . . . at least until she drops her opponents upon their duly appointed asses."

"You got all that from one meeting with her?"

Napoleon raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Contrary to what you might think, I always listen to your stories. Meeting the young woman only confirmed my ideas about her."

"And Jethro?"

"Special Agent Gibbs?" Napoleon laughed. "Courageous, stubborn, and loyal. Some of your finer traits, I might add."

""And what of Anthony?"

"Mr. DiNozzo? Why, he's me, of course."

Now, it was Illya turn to let out of a laugh. "You? I thought they were all reflections of me?"

Napoleon's smile broadened and his voice took on an innocence that was at complete odds with the devilish glint in his eyes. "But tovarisch, I am a part of you."

"You're crazy."

"Sirs, excuse me for interrupting, but we've picked up a tail," Govan said, lowering the partition between the front and the back of the limo.

"Of course we have. I swear, I hate coming to DC." Napoleon cut his eyes over at Illya. "You would have to live in the one city in North America with more spies and counterspies than civilians." When Illya did nothing more than give him an amused raise of one eyebrow, Napoleon turned back towards Govan. "Do we know who it is? CIA, FBI, THRUSH, Mossad, MI6, SVR?" He let out an amused huff of breath. "Let me guess, more than one?"

"Agent doesn't look familiar, Mr. Solo."

"They put a rookie on me? I think I'm insulted. Put the camera view on the screen back here, if you would, Mr. Govan. Let's get a look at our tail."

A small flat screen embedded in the front wall of the limo compartment flickered to life. Manipulating a small joystick on one corner of the screen, Napoleon focused the small camera hidden in the bumper of the car. The picture bounced erratically with the movement of the vehicle but the image itself was clear, even through the rain that was still falling. "Illya, isn't that Mr. DiNozzo?"

Ducky leaned forward, studying the image a moment before sitting back. "Is this the part where I remind you about not underestimating Jethro and his team?"

"Gibbs is persistent, I'll grant him that. I really didn't mean to cause you such problems."

"Napoleon, you've been causing me problems from the moment Mr. Waverly called me into his office and introduced you to me as my assigned partner." As Napoleon's normally expressive face fell, Ducky reached over and thumped him lightly on the leg. "Idiot. I would not have it any other way. It might not have been the ideal friendship, but you could never call it dull."

"No, never dull. So what shall we do about Mr. DiNozzo back there? We can be sneaky and duck out of the limo at the next light and grab a cab. We could go the high-speed chase route."

Ducky snorted in amusement. "We are both too old and too creaky to be sneaking from the car, and you can't possibly think that this tank you like to call a limo is the right vehicle for a high-speed chase."

Napoleon affected a mock pout. "Dour Russian. You take all the fun out of things."

"Yes, and it's amazing how long that's kept you alive."

Govan, who'd seen this type of back and forth on numerous occasions between the Number One of UNCLE New York and the man most people in the Command considered the unofficial Number Two of UNCLE New York, simply waited until there was a pause in the bickering before asking, "Shall I lose him, sirs?"

"Why bother? If nothing else, at least we'll know where he's at. What harm can come of it? All he's going to see is the two of us having dinner," Ducky said, smiling at the image upon the screen.

"Most of the night, at any rate…" Solo said, softly, for just his former partner to hear.

"Well that remains to be seen, Napoleon. I'm still not sure I've quite forgiven you or Jethro."

Napoleon smiled and dropped his head slightly, then back up. "Original course, Mr. Govan, take us to dinner. And don't lose Mr. DiNozzo. If he gets lost, he's likely never to find us again."

Govan swallowed a laugh. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure Fredricks keeps a steady pace." With a final nod to his superior, Govan raised the partition, enclosing the back of the limo once more in privacy.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Gibbs paused outside the lab and took stock of where he stood at the moment. He had DiNozzo trailing two old men, who were friends, had slight mobility issues, and were out on the town. He was tying up valuable resources trying to track down a company that apparently was no more harmful or dangerous than most and worst, he had his other two agents and his best lab tech standing and staring at a photo taken thirty years earlier.

Gibbs tried to feel guilty about flexing his rather substantial influence over his team, but the fact was that Singleton was evasive, elusive, and way too polished for a business man. There was something about him that reminded Gibbs of a well-trained pit bull – the surface control concealing a beast that was just waiting for the proper command to lunge forth and rip an unsuspecting face off. Gibbs had no intention of being that victim.

Plus there was something else -- this man represented a part of Ducky's life that was closed off to him Oh, the ME could talk, and would talk at length for hours, but often Gibbs couldn't help but feel it was all just window dressing to hide a more substantial and unsettling youth than that of a routine life in Edinburg. He'd long sensed a dangerous undercurrent in his friend that no amount of poking or prodding could bring to the surface. Whatever that secret past was, it was buried so deep and so completely that Gibbs had little chance of uncovering it – until Singleton appeared.. Now, at last Gibbs had a chance to break through that resistance, and while he did feel a little guilty about his determination, it wasn't enough to make him pull out either. Not when he was this close to getting answers to some long-standing questions.

Gibbs stared up at the image of the two men displayed on the plasma screen, obviously fit and in the peak of condition. They were so lost in each other's company that he could tell without even asking that they were a pair; partners, two people so used to living out of each other's pockets that they didn't know anything else. He couldn't help but wonder what else had gone wrong to make Ducky leave. A proto-type going bad just didn't seem to be enough; not with the look upon the men's faces, the obvious affection in their eyes, and the body language that each gave off. No, something else had happened, something big enough to drive, if not a wedge between the two men, then enough of one to alienate Ducky from their common employer.

"Dr. Mallard was a good looking man," Ziva noted. "A bit thin, perhaps."

Abby cast a sly grin at her. "Singleton's not bad either. Look at those bedroom eyes. They're like the perfect bookends – blond and brunet. Wouldn't you like to be the filling in that sandwich?"

"Abby!"

Abby blinked innocently at a red-faced McGee. "I'm just saying. They're awfully pretty together. A woman could get lost in there."

As McGee shook his head in disbelief, Ziva had leaned closer to the screen, studying it intently. "Abby, can you magnify the image of Dr. Mallard?"

"Sure, no prob." A few keystrokes caused the image to shift on the screen. "Stop! There," Ziva pointed.

"There?" McGee squinted at the screen. "What am I looking at?"

"The bulge," she answered.

"Ain't nothing compared to-" A large plastic cup of Caf Pow slammed down in front of Abby causing her to leap backwards, her eyes on Gibbs. She'd completely forgotten about the senior field agent. "What?"

"Gibbs," Ziva said, her own cheeks pink. "Ducky is-"

"I see it, Ziva. Ducky's packing," Gibbs said grimly.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

The limo continued at a leisurely pace, never speeding up or slowly down. Tony whistled along with the radio. This was a piece of cake. Whoever these guys were, they were nothing compared to the crack members of Team Gibbs. "Do you expect me to talk, Blofield?" He said in his best James Bond impression. "No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die." It might just be time for another Bondfest and he found his thoughts drifting. Maybe Ziva would be interested. She might be fun for commentary on the fight scenes.

"DiNozzo!" The dark-haired agent very nearly jumped out of his skin at the loud voice coming through the communication earbud. "Concentrate upon what you're doing and stop talking to yourself. Where are you?"

"Looks like we're pulling up in front of Gerard's Place, boss." He parked and watched as the front door opened and a tall silhouette climbed out from the front passenger side door. He held an umbrella as first one man, then another climbed from the limo before escorting them into the restaurant.

"Watch them, DiNozzo."

"On it, boss man." Tony held up the binoculars and watched through the glass windows of the trendy restaurant as the two older men were shown to a table.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

"Thank you Napoleon, for asking the hostess to seat us here. I know you would have preferred a table further in the back."

Taking his seat, Napoleon nodded out towards the street. "If we were further back, our shadow wouldn't have been able to see us. This way, with a decent pair of binoculars, he can still keep his eyes on us and he doesn't have to stand out in the rain to do it. I always hated those assignments. Wet, cold, miserable, and hell on a good suit."

Ducky picked up his menu, eyeing his companion over its edge. "Well, then I thank you upon his behalf." Dropping his eyes he quickly scanned the menu, picking out this and that as possibilities. "What looks good to you tonight, Napoleon?" He stopped as he glanced up and watched as Solo held the menu at arm's length. How many times had he seen Gibbs do exactly the same thing? "Your glasses would do you far more good perched upon your nose, old friend, as opposed to your night stand."

"I don't need glasses, it's just the lighting is a little low in here."

The doctor chuckled and pulled off his own pair, offering them. There was a moment's hesitation and Solo took them. "You've done this before."

"Jethro tends to forget his as well. What is it about man and his vanities? Macular degeneration is just part of the aging process, Napoleon, there's no reason to be embarrassed by it."

"That's easy for you to say, you don't have a reputation to protect." He settled the glass upon his nose and frowned. "The duck looks good." Solo grinned at the double meaning. "You know what I mean.

"I've found I've lost my taste for it over the years."

"I can see why, Dr. Mallard. Think I'll go with the lobster special."

"Fish would be a better choice. I saw the reports from your last physical."

"Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? Remind me to fire Medical when I get back to New York and lobster's a fish . . . after a fashion." Thunder rolled through the room and the lights flickered slightly. Solo glanced past the curtains and beyond. "Poor Mr. DiNozzo, out there all by himself."

"Yes, well, let's order and then I will take care of young Anthony." As the waitress approached, Napoleon snatched off the glasses and passed them back.

"Ready, gentlemen?"

"Yes, the lobster for the gentleman and the halibut for me. A starter, Nathan?"

"How about the mussels?"

"And I'll have the sweetbread. Thank you."

"Wine?"

"Have the sommelier pick out something appropriate," Ducky closed his menu and passed it to her. She smiled and walked off.

"Nathan?" Solo asked as the doctor replaced his glasses.

"She's wearing an ear piece. As you pointed out earlier, this is Washington DC."

"She is? How could you see that without your glasses on?"

"You never got past her breasts, did you? Napoleon, you will never change." He lifted his glass to Solo, touching the rim gently against the other man's glass in salute. "For that, I am grateful." He took a sip and then set down his glass. "And now if you will excuse me for a moment, I have a call to place."

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

DiNozzo jumped at the tap upon his window. He'd been so intent upon studying the restaurant he'd never even seen anyone approach the car. If the guy had been an assassin, he'd be dead now. He wiped at the condensation upon the window and frowned at the delivery man standing there, umbrella in one hand and a slightly damp pizza box in the other. Gun at the ready, he opened the window. "Can I help you?"

"You Anthony DiNozza?"

"DiNozzo, yea, what about it?"

The man shifted from foot to foot impatiently. "Got a pizza here for you, man.

Tony eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I didn't order any pizza."

"The guy that called said you were the black sedan license plate number GI12-R45 on the corner of 15 and Farragut, outside of Gerard's Place. Here!" The delivery man thrust the pizza box in through the partially open window and turned to take off.

"Hey, wait a second." DiNozzo groped for his wallet.

"Already been taken care of man." A final wave and the man sped off. The heavenly smell of pizza filled the car and Tony practically tore the top of the box off in his haste to get into it. "Sausage, pepperoni and extra cheese…" The first piece was practically swallowed before his tongue could even register it. One thing you had to say about Gibbs, he knew how to treat his people right.

"Hey, boss?"

Gibbs less than happy voice snapped back at him. "What, DiNozzo?"

"Um, just wanted to say thanks for the pizza, boss. It was really nice of you."

"When have I ever been nice, DiNozzo?" There was a pause. "I didn't send you pizza."

"Then who?" DiNozzo glanced back up at the restaurant and Ducky raised a hand to him. He waved back, not sure the doctor could even see him in the dark. "DiNozzo?"

"Tell Ziva to get her gloves ready, Boss. I've been spotted."

"Are you sure, Tony?" McGee's voice held an anxious edge to it, as if he would suffer a similar fate.

"Oh yes, Probie, I have most definitely been made." At Gibbs' sigh, Tony asked quietly, "Do you want me to come in, Boss?"

"No, I want you to do your job, DiNozzo." Tony's eyes blinked as if feeling Gibbs' slap to the back of his head. "You watch them, DiNozzo!"

"Will do, Boss." Suddenly, the pizza lost its appeal and he let the piece he held fall back onto the box.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Dinner progressed smoothly, and both men decided to pass up dessert.

"What is your pleasure now, Nathan?" Ducky rose, accepted his overcoat from the wired waitress with a smile. Once she'd departed, he added, "Back to my place for a night cap?"

"I don't think your mother likes me very much."

"Then you're in good company; she doesn't like anyone else either. There's nothing to worry about though. Her dementia had progressed to the stage that she requires constant supervision, so I moved her to a nursing facility close by. She's nearly forgotten me entirely by now - a tragedy for some, a blessing for me really."

"And the dogs?"

"All farmed out to good homes," Ducky assured him. "You no longer have to face the wrath of Tyson, dear fellow."

"I usually get along well with dogs. I don't know why he hated me so much."

"Because you weren't Mother, Napoleon. That's the only reason he needed. Come."

Ducky led the way to the entrance and back towards the limo when a little voice started whispering in the back of his head. It had been so long that he nearly dismissed it as spending too much time in his former partner's presence.

"Illya, did you just . . .?"

"I think we need to get you inside," Ducky said, giving Solo an encouraging push towards the car. Once the doors were shut and they were underway, he breathed a small sigh of relief. "That was odd."

"Welcome back to my world," Solo muttered, as he leaned down to brush some mud from the cuff of his trousers. That's when a dark puddle caught his eye and his voice caught in his throat. "Mr. Govan, I was wondering if you could pull over for a moment. I seem to have left my umbrella back at the restaurant."

Ducky was about to point out that they'd shared his when he heard the door locks engage. Adrenaline took over and he threw himself at the nearest door, cursing in Russian as it held firm, as one would expect.

"Shit, Napoleon, disengage the system," he barked, but Napoleon had toppled forward. As he reached for his friend, Ducky detected the small of lilacs. _Liliacs? At this time of the year,_ was all his brain was able to form before he too tumbled forward.

The car pulled into an empty parking lot and stopped.

"What the hell?" DiNozzo asked, pulling his sedan up along a tree-lined street to watch the limo's wide turn into the lot. "Boss, there may be trouble."

"Why's that?"

"Limo just pulled into a deserted lot off of 14th." Lights flashed over the interior of his car and he instinctively ducked lower behind his steering wheel. "There's another car pulling into the lot, Boss. I'm going to get closer."

"Be careful, Tony, you don't know who you're dealing with," advised Ziva, squinting to try and make out the jumbled images from the moving camera.

"Of all the asses I'm fond of, I'm fondest of my own, Ziva. Don't worry." He checked the clip in his gun, made sure there was one round chambered and slid from the car. Crouching, he moved quietly through the dark, slipping behind accommodating shrubs until he was tantalizingly close.

The second car rolled to a stop and the driver climbed out, stopping to open the rear door as an older man climbed out.

He waved a hand towards the limo and the driver hurriedly raced to the vehicle. The limo driver stepped out and Tony realized with a start that it wasn't the same guy who'd been driving originally. The tall dark-suited man had been replaced by a shorter man wearing jeans and a hooded jacket.

"There were no problems?" the older man asked.

The man in jeans shook his head. "Piece of cake, Mr. Greer. Just one complication."

The man identified as Greer snapped his head around to stare at the guy in jeans. Tony was surprised to see jeans-guy shrink back in obvious fear from the older man. "What complication?"

"It wasn't a big one," he assured Greer nervously. "Just that you said that the target would be alone outside of his bodyguards. He had another old guy with him."

"Show me." Greer demanded.

Jeans-guy hurried over to the limo and pulled the door open. Tony felt a bolt of alarm go through him when he saw Singleton slumped forward across the seat. His alarm rose as jeans-guy reached in and roughly pulled Singleton out, laying him on the wet ground.

Ziva's muted voice came through the earpiece. "He looks dead."

Jeans-guy reached further into the limo and pulled out the limp body of Dr. Mallard. "Damn it," Tony heard Gibbs growl and understood the sentiment completely as he had to fight the urge to leap forward when Dr. Mallard's body was also unceremoniously dumped on the ground.

Oddly enough, Greer had started laughing.

"You want me to kill him?" Jeans-guy asked.

"Kill him? My God, man, you might just get a bonus out of this."

"Yeah? It's okay he's here?"

"Better than okay." Greer laughed again and pointed at Ducky. "I thought he was dead. We all did. To find him alive . . . but then, of course he'd be alive, and they're together again. How very appropriate."

Jeans nudged Singleton with the toe of one of his boots. "So who are these guys?"

Greer knelt to examine first one unconscious body and then the other, his hand brushing across them almost tenderly. "It might be hard for you to imagine, but this was once the top fighting team that UNCLE had. Solo was bad, but it was his partner you had to watch out for. I once saw him striped and put into a glass room, only to have him stroll out fully clothed a half an hour later."

"How…?"

"We never knew, but the rule of thumb was that if you wanted to hold onto Kuryakin, then the only way to do it was to keep him unconscious. Nothing could hold him, nothing could stop him, except his partner." The man nudged Solo gently with the toe of his shoe. "But as they say, age is the great equalizer. We can run, but we can't hide."

"Not me, I'm never getting old," Jeans-guy said with the arrogance of the very young.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

"Are you getting all this, McGiggles?" DiNozzo's voice was muffled.

"Most of it, audio isn't great and is fading in and out . . . and I sort of got hung up on trying to imagine Ducky naked," McGee answered back, exchanging a wary glance with Abby who was still grinning.

"And a horde of men just ran for their towels, Probie."

"Who's talking, Tony?" Gibbs asked.

"The guy from the second car, Greer. Old, about Ducky's age. I'll try to get a better shot for you." Tony dropped to the wet pavement and wiggled forward slightly. "How's that?"

"Better, DiNozzo."

"Hey, Boss, I heard the old guy say that Singleton and Ducky worked for his uncle. Maybe Abby would have more luck with that. And he said something about curry again."

"Curry again?" Gibbs' head suddenly snapped up and his face blanked. "Tony, can you get any closer?"

"Not and maintain any sense of security." Tony sighed softly at the extremely loud silence coming from his receiver. "Getting closer, boss." He edged closer, his belly a scant inch from the pavement. Jeans-guy had vanished around the car for a moment and DiNozzo nearly yelled as a body was flung in his direction. He recognized it as one of the two men that had been guarding Singleton. "I got a dead body here, Boss," he whispered and then flinched as a second corpse joined the first. "And another. Singleton's guys are out of the running." Suddenly DiNozzo froze as Jeans-guy head whipped in his direction. "Oh, oh…boss?"

"DiNozzo, fall back. Get the hell out of there," Gibbs barked as they watched the man descend upon the agent.

DiNozzo started to climb to his feet, aborting the attempt halfway through to launch himself at his attacker. The move was just enough of a surprise to throw jeans-guy off balance and the two tumbled to the ground. While it was true that there were many less-than-polite words to describe the NCIS agent, he was also a lethal fighter when it came to hand-to-hand combat. A roundhouse dropped the stranger to his knees and Tony pulled back his arm to deliver a final blow when there can a sickening thud, something akin to a melon being dropped from a great distance. DiNozzo fell to his knees and then pitched forward. The camera displayed a sideways view of wet concrete until a pair of polished leather shoes stepped into view. A short length of pipe clanked to the pavement next to the shoes, one end stained red.

Gibbs' team heard, "Any idea who he is?" through the still open mic.

Greer's face loomed into view as he knelt to hold up the tiny camera closer for inspection. "I'm going to wager that UNCLE is having a very bad day. Not only is it losing its leader and one of its former golden boys, they can kiss their CEA goodbye as well. Bring him." The view screen suddenly went black and the microphone hissed out broken static as McGee ripped off his head set in frustration.

Three pairs of eyes all went to him and Gibbs let his face grow cold. "McGee…"

"I'll go grab Palmer and gas up the truck. We know Tony's last location – empty lot on the corner of 14th. We should be able to pick up trace from the scene." McGee didn't wait for further instructions, taking off almost at a run.

"Officer David…"

Ziva was already taking small steps backwards. "I'll cross reference all known terrorists for Greer's name and photo and put out a BOLO on the second car." Like McGee, she was gone to her appointed task before Gibbs could even nod.

"Abby!"

The young woman turned a grief-stricken expression in his direction. "I don't know…what should I do? I don't have any fingerprints or DNA to run. It all has to wait for McGee to come back with trace."

"I've got another task for you until McGee and I get back. Find out what you can about an organization called U.N.C.L.E."

"UNCLE? Gibbs, that's a fairy tale; it doesn't exist," she protested, her hands flapping in front of her like flightless birds. "I need to do something real."

"Do it, Abs!" The young woman jumped at the harsh tone but turned toward her computer.

Gibbs stepped around her, gazing up at the photo of the two younger men still up on the wall screen. "Not curry again – Kuryakin," he muttered to himself. "I'll be a son of a bitch."

* * *

**  
UNCLE 101 cliffnotes:**

**The Masque Club** - Exclusive club run and maintained by UNCLE. The Masque Club adjoins the secret headquarters of UNCLE New York and there is a secret entrance from the Club into the headquarters building.

**CEA** - Chief Enforcement Agent -- Each UNCLE office has a individual that oversees all the Enforcement Agents (Section II Agents). This would be the CEA, or Number One of Section II. This was a position that was once held by Napoleon Solo in his younger days. One of the top jobs of the CEA would be to protect the Number One of Section I (the head honcho of UNCLE) which is why Mr. Greer assumes Tony is one of the CEAs.

**THRUSH** - Traditional opponents of UNCLE. A 1964 promo books for the series describes THRUSH in this way: "If you were to examine the globe carefully, you would not find THRUSH's name engraved anywhere on it. Yet time and time again, as you passed your hand over country after country, you would have placed your fingers (unknowingly) on territory under the domination of THRUSH... THRUSH is a supra-nation [whose] inflexible purpose is to dominate the earth." Think world-wide terrorist organization with contacts, money and lots of smarts.


	8. Chapter 8

Beta credits go to steamfan. She's branching out from random commas and missing speaking tags and moving into misplaced paragraphs. Good betas are a joy to have. :-)

* * *

**Past and Present Affair  
****Chapter 8  
****by Myrina and Uncle Charlie**

The rain had started to let up as the NICS van pulled into the near empty parking lot. Just as DiNozzo had described, the limo sat abandoned, its doors open and expensive interior exposed to the elements. Not far from it, black shapes formed unnatural lumps upon the asphalt. Gibbs braked the truck to a hard stop, nearly sending Tim through the small window and into the front of the vehicle. Still, the young special agent had enough presence of mind to keep his comments to himself. Gibbs was not in a joking mood.

Gibbs barely managed to set the gear in park before jumping out and running the motionless forms. Nearing the closest, he reached out and caught himself. Years of training and he'd nearly grabbed the body without remembering protocol. Thankful Ducky wasn't there to notice his near faux pas, he quickly donned a pair of latex gloves and knelt down. He blinked involuntarily as the flash from Ziva's camera blinded him. Carefully, as to not disturb the scene, he pulled the cloth from the body's face. It wasn't DiNozzo. Releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding, he glanced over at the second shape. McGee was kneeling beside it and glanced up as if he felt Gibbs's gaze upon him.

"It's not Tony, boss," he said.

"Then who is it?" Gibbs reached into the nearest pants pocket and pulled out a wallet. "This one is a Maurice Govan. New York driver's license." Gibbs dropped the wallet into a plastic bag and began a systematic search. "And he's armed. Looks like a Walther P-5."

"Same here," McGee held up the weapon for a moment before bagging it. "This guy is Lenard Fredricks, also with a New York City license." McGee flipped quickly through the wallet. "Nothing else except credit cards and some cash in his wallet."

"Bag and tag," Gibbs said, his hands still searching. Something in the breast pocket of the corpse's jacket stayed his hand and he reached in, pulling out a small leather business card holder. He flicked it open and immediately closed it. "McGee, help Ziva with the limo."

"But, I haven't had-" McGee stopped when he realized the agent didn't care. "I'll go help Ziva, boss." While it went against all his training to do so, Gibbs dropped the small case into his jacket pocket and left the one body for the other. True to form, this one also carried the same leather wallet in the same pocket. It joined the first and Gibbs flicked up an eye to see if anyone had noticed, but they were all busy with their own tasks. Palmer, he noted, had found them and was beginning his cursory examination of the bodies.

"How'd they die, Duc-" Gibbs suddenly choked off the word. Three head swiveled in his direction, but he made no excuse for his lapse. "Palmer, how did they die and when?"

"As to how, that's pretty straight forward, single gunshot to the head, double tapped in the heart. Won't know which hit them first until the autopsy, but whoever shot them didn't want to take any chances of them surviving." He reached for the liver probe. "Couldn't have been all that long ago though, rigor has just started to set in, so less than four hours." He pulled out the probe, squinting at it in the low light. " And liver temp says, between 1900 to 2000 hours."

"Never knew what hit them," Ziva murmured as she snapped another photo.

"Why do you say that?" Gibbs questioned.

"These men were Singleton's bodyguards, but neither of them drew their weapons. They were either very inexperienced, which I find unlikely given Mr. Singleton's standing, or they were taken by a sniper. Ambushed most likely. If I'd been running the op . . . two men, maybe three. One with a sniper rifle long range and the other two on the ground, close range to handle mistakes and to get the bodies out of the way quickly. We saw Ducky and Singleton get back in the limo. They did not know that the bodyguards had been eliminated and that others had taken their place."

Gibbs stood and faced his agent. "Who would have that sort of expertise?"

"The CIA, FBI, Marines…" Ziva started to tick possibilities off on her fingers.

"The Mossad," Gibbs interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"Your father's blood was found on the inside of that briefcase. Has it even occurred to you that he might have ordered this hit as a means of covering up his association with Singleton's group?"

"Um…that's not likely, boss." McGee interrupted. As Gibbs turned his head in McGee's direction, the agent visibly flinched. "I just mean, if it was the Mossad, they would have more than likely just killed everyone. Singleton seemed to know Director David. Kidnapping Singleton doesn't buy the Director anything, especially if we still have the evidence. And wouldn't the fact that all three are missing seem to indicate something else?"

"And that would be?"

McGee swallowed hard. "Ah…not a clue."

"Not the right answer, McGee."

Tim opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut when he completely blanked under Gibbs' hard stare. Tim really wished Tony was there. The other agent had a gift that McGee knew he lacked for both diffusing Gibbs' temper and getting the senior agent to see other possibilities in a case.

"Gibbs, over here," Ziva called, having edged away from the two men. She took a shot of a lead pipe, one end stained with something dark. "Looks like blood," she offered, taking another shot of it. "And there's this." The tiny camera that had been mounted to Tony cap lay in a multitude of pieces, like some sort of jigsaw puzzle. "If the Mossad had been here, they would have shot Tony, not knocked him over the head with a pipe."

"Makes sense, boss," McGee said, softly. "Add that to some of the stuff they were saying about Ducky. I think we're looking at another party."

"Then who?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to get these back to the office and start running tests."

"I will check my Interpol contacts and see if they can offer anything helpful. By the time we get back, we should also have something on the search I initiated on Greer." Ziva straightened up and started to walk back towards the van.

"Could I get a hand over here?" Palmer's voice stopped her. He'd managed to get the bodies into bags, but now had the problem of loading them onto the gurney. McGee waited for Gibbs' nod before trotting over. Gibbs walked back to the limo, staring into the rear interior of the car.

"Where are you, Ducky?" Gibbs muttered, reaching in to the limo and pulling out the man's umbrella.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

_  
Lilacs, why was he smelling lilacs in the fall?_ was the first thought that tumbled through Ducky's mind as he gradually pushed past the throbbing drumbeats in his head towards wakefulness. That and his pillow was ungodly hard. He tried to plump it up, but his arms wouldn't work.

Old indoctrinated training kicked in and ignoring the pounding headache and the urge to just keep his eyes closed and enjoy the darkness, his mind snapped, _Enough!_ Ducky's eyes popped open and he stared at darkness until he realized it was his former partner's leg that his head was pillowed upon. One mystery solved, he tried to move his hands again, but to no avail. A little manipulation of his fingers and he could feel the handcuffs that held his wrists firmly together. _Great, just like old times._ He struggled upright and glanced around the immediate area, squinting slightly. Whoever had captured them apparently thought his glasses were a danger and removed them. It was an inconvenience, but nothing more than that.

An examination of the room revealed very little. He and Napoleon were in a small cement room, he'd wager a basement of some sort. There was a door at one end and not much in between. It gave him a place to start, if nothing else. Ducky flexed his shoulders backwards, trying to work his hands down and behind his legs, but his joints, once so flexible and able, were now stiff with age. Short of popping a shoulder out of its socket, that course of action wasn't going to work for him anymore.

Instead, he turned his attention to his fallen comrade. "Napoleon, wake up!" The man murmured something, shifted slightly, but remained unconscious. "Napoleon, come on, we've got to get out of here." Still there was no real response. Ducky sighed and glanced around before leaning very close to Solo's ear. Deliberately putting a small tremble in his voice, he said, "Napoleon, help me." The silvered head bobbed once and then came up, hazel eyes blinking in the low light.

"What? Illya, what's…never mind." It only took Solo a mere second to register what it had taken Ducky minutes to. "Hmm, we seem to be captured, how unlikely is that, us being together and all? From the smell of the cheap perfume and the god-awful pounding in my head, I'm going to say THRUSH."

"It was lilacs, not cheap perfume. Although I will agree with THRUSH. No one makes knockout gas with quite their thoroughness . . . or aftereffects."

Napoleon struggled from his slumped position to sit more upright until he and Illya were sitting shoulder to shoulder. "At least with repeated exposure to the stuff the nausea goes away. Getting hit the first few times with their latest concoction is always . . . unfortunate. Rather like-" A clang sounded beyond the door and Ducky shook his head quickly. Immediately, Solo fell silent as a trio of men entered.

"Just like old times, isn't it?" The center man slapped his hands together and laughed out loud. "I couldn't believe my good fortune." He took a few steps closer as both of the older men struggled to their feet to stand, their movements hampered by the handcuffs pinning their arms behind them.

"Hello, Greer, what a surprise this is," Solo said, amicably. "Seems like just yesterday I was signing the sanction for your death."

"Yes, well, stories of my death have been largely exaggerated." Greer's grin widened, "As have yours, Mr. Kuryakin."

Ducky didn't permit himself to respond to the name until Solo nudge him. "I think he's talking to you, Dr. Mallard."

Ducky affected one of his more absent-minded looks – the one that used to send young Gerald hurrying from Autopsy. "I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Mallard, Dr. Donald Mallard. I'm a ME for NCIS."

One of the men flanking Greer frowned. "Why would a crop service need a doctor?" he asked.

"What?" Ducky shook his head in disgust. "Not National Crop Insurance, you idiot, Naval Criminal Investigations Services. I'm a medical examiner for the Navy."

"Is that right? And you were having dinner with Mr. Solo here because?"

"I was having dinner with _Mr. Singleton,_" Ducky said, stressing the name. "I do not know a Mr. Solo. NCIS recovered a body the other day on which I performed the autopsy. Mr. Singleton, here, provided the positive identification. We got to talking and discovered we had quite a few things in common. We went to dinner."

"You just went to dinner," Greer repeated, his voice amused and faintly mocking.

Ducky made a sound of annoyance. "Yes, dinner. Look here, I don't know who you are, or who you think I am, but NCIS will be looking for me when I don't show. You really should let us go."

"Bravo, _Dr. Mallard_. That was quite the performance. But I say you're Illya Nichovetch Kuryakin, former Number Two of UNCLE's enforcement section."

Ducky's eyes rolled and his lips curled slightly, a gesture that had never failed to annoy those subjected to it. "Prove it."

"Ah, I can't by ordinary means, as Mr. Kuryakin's DNA, finger prints, even dental records are not a matter of record. However, there's a much easier way." Greer turned to the two men. "Cover me. If he even flinches, shoot Solo, somewhere non-lethal, preferably." The man walked up to Ducky and spun him. He grabbed Ducky's shirt and yanked it clear of his pants. "Why do you wear a tee shirt, Dr. Mallard?"

"I'm an old man, I get cold."

"I think it's something else." Greer tugged on the shirt revealing Ducky's back. Long white scars were interlaced up the surface of it. "I think it's to hide the scars that you got as an UNCLE agent. I think it's so no one will even know what Mother Fear did to you." At the name, Ducky pulled free from Greer and turned back around, staring at the man. "I was young," Greer said, "but I never forgot, Mr. Kuryakin. I stood there and I watched."

There was something in the way that Greer said the word _watched_ that turned Ducky's stomach. Meeting Greer's eyes he studied the other man, seeing the confirmation of that assessment in Greer's eyes. And as easily as he'd fallen into the fiction of the affronted Dr. Mallard, he fell back out again and something almost imperceptible changed.

Beside him, Napoleon shifted slightly on his feet. He'd noticed the transformation, even if no one else had – call it a change in the way Ducky stood or the way his head cocked slightly to the side or just a spiritual connection, but Ducky Mallard was now no more than any of the other thousands of disguises that his partner had worn over the years. Battered, bruised and more than a little annoyed that his hands were cuffed behind him, Napoleon felt the old rush of adrenaline and knew with bone-deep assurance that if anyone was going to be dying today, it wasn't going to be him or Illya.

Chill blue eyes narrowed. "You were deprogrammed," Illya said.

"We weren't 100 percent successful with that," Napoleon murmured. "It was okay until some of them hit their twenties and then the deprogramming started to slip. Most noticeably in those that the Psych teams said would probably have ended up as criminals even before they met Mother Fear. Greer was one of the few that got through the cracks and made it back to THRUSH."

"And now it will be my pleasure to hand you back to them." Greer stepped away from the men and slapped his hands together again. "And now for another reunion of a sort, and I think you'll like this one, Mr. Solo. We have another friend of yours as a guest. Bring them, and if one of them makes a break for it, shoot the other one in the knee."

They were led down a short hall and past three closed doors until they entered pipe-lined room. Hanging from an overhead pipe was an unconscious dark-haired man, his face tipped forward so that they couldn't identify him. "Not only do I have UNCLE's leader and its former Golden Boy," Greer boasted, "I have Mr. Chambers as well."

"Who?" Ducky mouthed to Solo who in return shook his head slightly, until one of the gunmen pulled the head upright to reveal DiNozzo.

"Um, you made a mistake, he's not with me," Solo said, and caught a backhand across the mouth for his efforts from thug #1 that caused him to stagger back several steps. Ducky took a step towards the man and then stopped as a pair of guns swiveled towards him.

"Nice try, Solo, but he was armed, following you, and wearing an expensive camera and communications set up. Not to mention, THRUSH updates say the brand new New York CEA is dark haired, about late thirties or so, and about 6'3". I say if it quacks like a duck, then it must be a duck. Chain them to that pipe." Greer indicated a section of pipe running a few inches off the floor. "We'll let them sit and visit until our friend shows up."

"Friend?" Napoleon inquired.

"Highest bidder, if you will then." He smiled at both men. "Turning over Chambers is going to get me a promotion." He patted Solo's cheek fondly. "You're going to make me a wealthy man, Mr. Solo." He turned to Ducky and the smile grew even bigger. "And you're going to make me a freaking legend." He turned and began to walk out. "By the way," he called over his shoulder to his men, "never, ever let your eyes leave Kuryakin for a moment until he's securely chained. He's a slippery bastard."

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Gibbs led the way out of the elevator and headed straight for his desk. Dropping off his Sig in the drawer, his hand brushed against the leather wallets and he flicked up a quick glance to see where his agents were. McGee was missing from his desk, probably still logging in the evidence recovered at the scene. He had no doubt the younger agent would be back at his desk soon. David was on the phone, cradling it against her shoulder as she accessed her own computer.

Slamming the drawer shut with unnecessary force, he strode from the room, his destination Abby's lab. As he boarded the elevator, he let it drop a floor and then punched the 'emergency stop' button. Here was about the only privacy he had while in the building. Reaching into his pocket he pulled the top wallet out, flipping it open with one hand. A yellow-gold card stared back at him – a globe with a figure off to one side. No name, just a phone number on the back. The other wallet revealed exactly the same thing. Short of calling the number, this was just another dead end. He stuffed them back into his jacket pocket and punched the elevator back into operation and made the rest of the ride in silence.

Music blasted from the lab even through the glass doors and Gibbs winced at the noise. Behind the glass Abby paced back and forth, her hands flapping and her mouth moving. Obviously she was having yet another one-sided conversation with her machines. As if aware of being watched, she looked in his direction.

_Are you okay? _he signed through the glass. Abby, her black eye-liner smudged and streaked under her eyes as if she'd been rubbing at them, shook her head violently no. Entering the lab, he had only a few seconds to brace himself before Abby launched herself into his arms. "Oh Gibbs, tell me you found them."

He held her close for just a second, and then set her firmly back on her feet. "We haven't found them yet. McGee should be bringing you the trace from the scene as soon as he finishes logging it in. Highest priority, Abs."

She fixed him with that hopeless look that always tore him up inside. "What if you don't find them? What if they're-" she bit down on the word, unable or unwilling to give it voice.

"They're still alive, Abby." Gibbs told her.

Abby jerked her hand in his direction, the multitude of silver bracelets on her wrist clinking with the movement. "How do you know?" she demanded. "You can't know. You're just trying-"

"I know." Gibbs interrupted firmly. "Whoever grabbed Singleton wanted him alive. You saw the video feed. They were happy to have Ducky with him and they said to bring Tony along. If they'd wanted them dead, they would have killed them at the site. They're alive. We just need to find them. So, what do you have for me, Abs?"

Abby's face took on a mulish expression like she didn't quite believe him but she spun back towards her computer monitors anyway. "Everything and nothing. If you type in 'JFK Conspiracy' in Google, you get back over 240,000 hits. If you type in 'UNCLE Conspiracy' you get just over 202,000 hits. There are thousands of websites and chatrooms and blogs all dedicated to proving or disproving the existence of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement aka UNCLE. The problem is that I can't substantiate any of it."

"What do you mean?"

She hit a few keys and a website appeared on the monitor. In the corner, the logo he'd seen on the yellow cards slowly rotated. "This site says that UNCLE maintains a fleet of black helicopters, has their own satellite network, and are running special ops out of a hundred year old farmhouse in Kansas."

She hit another few keys and a dialogue box appeared on the screen. "This is an underground chatroom. Right now, there are over two hundred people logged in either chatting or reading the chats. The problem is that everything is just conjecture. I'd have more luck trying to prove the existence of Doctor Who"

"Who?"

"Yea, the Doctor. Well, Ten, although he's not going to be around for much longer. He's regenerating soon and I'm really gonna…"

"Abby!"

"Sorry." She tapped another series of keys. This time a list appeared on the screen which Abby started to scroll down. "Most of these are just throw-away sites like that first one I showed you, but there are a couple that caught my eye." She clicked the mouse and an image sprang to the screen. Again, the logo of the globe with a figure off to one side appeared. "This one looks official, but it's selling life insurance."

Abby moved the mouse and clicked again. "This one has cheesy graphics, but it reads right. It's trying to push UN policy, but even it isn't completely right. I mean, even if you took away the totally second-rate graphics and programming, the site is filled with grammatical errors and broken links. It's like it was written and maintained by a sixth-grader." She turned, but Gibbs was already gone. "I hate it when he does that, she muttered, going back to her computer. "Promise me that you will never leave me like that." For its part, the hard drive just continued to whir.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Gibbs walked through the glass door into autopsy, and just for a moment he saw Ducky standing there, hovering over one of the two naked bodies and then Palmer's head bobbed up. "What do you have for me, Mr. Palmer?" He moved closer to glance at the dissected chest cavity of the cadaver.

"These guys were in really great shape. Well, besides having three slugs in 'em. They had to be part of some sort of organization." Palmer flipped up his face mask so he could see Gibbs without the plastic interfering.

"Why do you say that?"

"The conditioning on both of the bodies was similar, like they shared a gym program or something similar." Palmer pointed to the shoulder of the closest one. "This guy took a slug in his shoulder a while back. The scar tissue is still fresh, but this is really interesting-" He walked to the second body and lifted the man's arm. "This guy apparently has been held captive multiple times. Look at the scarring on his wrists."

"What would make that?" Gibbs leaned closer for a better look. Palmer held out a magnifying glass which Gibbs waved away.

"Dr. Mallard would probably know – he always seems to know a lot about the various ways that a body shows evidence of restraints and torture – but I'm guessing rope because of the softer edges to the scars. Metal would tear more evenly and make a cleaner cut."

"So both of these guys have seen action."

"A lot of it, judging from the scarring I've found on the bodies. I sent body and tissue samples, along with prints, up to Abby for analysis, but haven't heard anything back yet." Gibbs turned and started to leave, but Palmer's voice caught him. "I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs."

"Sorry?"

"That I can't be of more help. I know that Dr. Mallard would have been able to make more conclusions and probably even told a story or two…"

"We're gonna get him back, Palmer." Gibbs let his voice take on a gentler edge. "Tony too." His phone rang and he caught it on the second ring. "Gibbs."

"Boss, we got something on Greer."

"I'll be right up. Good work, Mr. Palmer." Jimmy raised a hand in a good bye, but Gibbs had already stalked to the elevator.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

McGee allowed his attention to wander for a moment as he sensed Gibbs' approach. A rapid keystroke and a photo and rap sheet appeared up on the plasma screen. "Felton Greer, career criminal. You name it, he's tried it. Arms dealing, weapon smuggling, slavery, extortion, there isn't a crime he hasn't tried. FBI, CIA, CID, Interpol, Scotland Yard, they all want him. He's currently here on a forged Swiss passport, and no matter how many times he's been caught, he's managed to wiggle out of it, usually with big money backing him. His last suspected address was in Harlem, but when the place was raided, they figured he'd been gone at least two weeks."

McGee tapped the keyboard again and a second photo filled the screen. "Steven Eager, local strong arm. Dishonorable discharge from the Army two years ago. Metro fished his body out of the Potomac about an hour ago. Similar bullet pattern to the two bodies we have." A grainy still from the video feed that Tony had provided before he was taken appeared on the screen next to the mug shot of Eager.

"We've identified him as the man in the jeans and hoodie," Ziva said. "Obviously, Greer hired him to assist with the killings, possibly to provide DC specific information and contacts. If the three gunmen theory is correct, he would have been the third man. When his usefulness was no longer required, he was removed as a witness." She swept her hair from her face before crossing her arms defensively over her chest. She knew how sometimes the others regarded her past experience. "That's what I would do. The fewer mouths, less the chances of a drip."

"You mean a leak?" McGee asked after replaying the sentence in his head.

"Leak, drip, whatever. This Greer is obviously the cautious type. We know he knew Singleton and was aiming for him. He seemed to recognize Ducky but was not expecting him to be there. But why take Tony?" She sat down on the corner of her desk. "Unless they think he's someone else too. I mean, he obviously made a mistake with Ducky, so why not Tony?"

McGee's phone rang and he snatched it up. "McGee. Okay, we're on our way." He stood. "Abby's found something."

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

The three walked into Abby's lab just as she was setting down one of the recovered weapons. Snatching a large cup of Caf-Pow from Gibbs she started to suck greedily upon the straw. For a long moment, they waited until Gibbs was fairly certainly the young woman's eyes were about to roll back into her head from lack of oxygen.

"Okay," Abby said when she finished her first desperate drink. "I was testing the weapons that you collected from the crime scene Gibbs, and noticed something very strange. As you know, law enforcement agencies register their weapons."

"SOP," Gibbs said.

"Agreed." She held up one of the two Walther P-5's. "So why isn't this gun registered? Anywhere?" She set it down and moved back to her computer. "Not even the manufacturer has a record of either of these weapons. In short, they don't exist."

"That's impossible," Gibbs said, picking one up. He checked the chamber for a round before pointing the unloaded weapon at the wall.

"Exactly, and check out the slide action, there on the side."

Gibbs did as Abby directed, his thumb fitting easily onto a small slide lever build into the gun. It wasn't anything he'd ever seen on a Walther before. Actually, it wasn't anything he'd ever seen on any weapon. "What does it do?"

"I have no idea." Gibbs was tempted to laugh at Abby's obvious delight with that bit of mystery. Her curious soul loved when she discovered some forensics puzzle she'd never run across before. "It has something to do with the magazine cartridge. Set one way, the gun fires normally. Set the other way, bullets won't fire."

He showed the gun to Ziva who shook her head. "I've never seen anything like it. Some kind of odd safety?" she guessed.

"Don't think so," Abby said. "I'm thinking that it works with some kind of alternate magazine but I have no idea what that would be. Also, notice the screw attachment holes." She pointed at the gun. "Here, here and here. No idea what attached there either, although if I didn't know better, I'd swear that this piece" -- she pointed to raised bit of metal on the top of the gun barrel -- "is a base to attach a rife scope. Although that makes absolutely no sense on a handgun."

Dismissing the unexplainable for now, Gibbs asked if she had anything else.

"One last thing," she said, walking over to the table where three shoulder holsters lay. One obviously had come from the desiccated body of Novell, but the other two were newer although made along very similar lines. "These bad boys were the shoulder holsters off our bodies."

"So?"

"So, Gibbs, I'm not done!" She paused for effect. "I checked the wear on the inside of the holsters and just following a hunch, I checked Novell's as well. All three patterns are the same. It's safe to assume that the weapon missing from Novell's holster was a P-5 or something very similar to it." She moved from the table back to the computer. "However, unlike the weapons, I got a manufacturer on these. Very exclusive, very high end and a very, very discreet customer list."

"That you were able to hack into – alright, Abby." McGee gave her a playful hug, then immediately retreated at his superior's glare.

"And guess who one of their clients is?"

"Hargrove Imports," Ziva guessed. "But why would a simple import company have to go to such extreme methods?"

"When it's a cover for something else," Gibbs said, turning to leave. It was time to have a little chat with his Director.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

The Director's secretary looked up at Gibbs approach. "You can't go in there, Agent Gibbs. She's on the phone." Cynthia tried to slow the man down, but one glare sat her back in the seat. She punched the intercom in an effort to at least alert her boss of his arrival, but the Director's hand hadn't even gotten halfway to the toggle before Gibbs burst through the door.

"Do you mind, Agent Gibbs?" Jenny Sheppard had shared considerable time with the man. She was more than aware of his volatile temper, his frequent outbursts and his less-than-conventional approach to his job. Some days it was the only thing that kept him employed; others it was a near reason for his dismissal. He slammed the door behind him to the point of where pictures danced upon the wall.

"As a matter of fact, I do, Director. I want answers and I want them now." He brought a fist down against her desk and she stood, meeting him eye-for-eye.

"Your temper tantrums won't work with me, Jethro!" Her voice was tight with control. "You want something, you ask for it . . . politely. Or get the hell out of my office."

Gibbs took a deep breath before taking a step back from Jenny's desk, but his voice was no less angry when he spoke. "The point of asking was a long time ago, Jenny. It was way before two of my men, one of them a good friend, were kidnapped and taken God knows where. You know, don't you?"

"Where they are? Don't be ridiculous?" She kept the desk between them. She knew Gibbs would never hurt her, but she hadn't gotten this far by being casual about her own personal safety.

Gibbs pointed to the door. "UNCLE. Singleton works for UNCLE."

"UNCLE? What's that?"

"Wrong answer, Jenny." Gibb's voice grew very soft. "A normal person would have said who, not what." Her eyes widened slightly and he smiled, the same sort of smile a crocodile gives his prey before taking that first bite. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that Nathan Singleton isn't Napoleon Solo and that the man I've known for years as a personal friend isn't Illya Kuryakin."

"How? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Tell me."

Jenny sat down, collecting her thoughts. "Sit Jethro."

"I want to-"

"Sit!"

Gibbs hesitated and then sat down. Jenny gave him nod in both acknowledgement and thanks. "Tell me how you know." As Gibbs' eyes narrowed, she added, "I answer nothing until you tell me how you arrived at your conclusion."

Gibbs studied her face for a moment, assessing her conviction. "When I was first assigned to Paris," he said abruptly, "I used to meet a contact, Renee. He was about fifty at the time and we'd play chess in the park. He was always half-drunk or half-stoned and most of his intel was complete crap. It was the other half that made him useful. The trick was figuring out which half was what you really needed." Gibbs stopped then, remembering the old man before he continued. "In between the chess games and the gossip, he'd tell stories about the United Network Command for Law & Enforcement."

"UNCLE," Jenny said.

Gibbs nodded. "Renee swore that he was a former UNCLE agent, although he always made the distinction that he'd been Section III rather than Section II. I never understood what that difference was, but he seemed to think it was a very big deal. His favorite tales had to do with an American UNCLE agent, one Napoleon Solo, and his partner, a Russian by the name of Illya Kuryakin. The stories were always fanciful and some of them were completely outrageous and couldn't possibly have been true, but his descriptions were so detailed and vivid that I couldn't help but listen and remember." Gibbs snorted softly, his tone self-mocking. "And the funny part, was that when I met Ducky, the first thing that popped into my head was that old man's stories. They were true, weren't they?"

Jenny shrugged. "I don't know. But some of what he told you was probably correct, or at least mostly correct. To tell you the truth, I don't think anyone outside of _their_ organization really knows who they are and what all they are involved in."

Gibbs' lips twisted, as if he was tasting something sour. "So how did Ducky . . . Illya get here?"

"I don't know the complete story, but it was a deal that we made with them. We could take Ducky…Illya…if we could guarantee continuation of his cover. He'd been retired from field duty, but wanted out of the agency."

"The Command," Gibbs said, his voice filled with something hard and tight.

"What?"

"They refer to it as UNCLE or as the Command, at least according to Renee."

Jenny, unsure of Gibbs' mood, nodded and continued. "UNCLE would only release Illya if certain conditions were met. Because of his extensive background with the Russian Navy, our own Navy was eager to provide a safe haven for him. In exchange, Illya Kuryakin died, his existence removed from everything and Donald Mallard was born. I was also given to believe that UNCLE's usual MO is that their top agents get a memory wipe."

Gibbs nearly came out of his seat at that bit of news. "What?"

"I don't know the specifics, Jethro. I don't even know how it's possible, but it sounded like normally, every bit of sensitive information is removed from their memories. Illya was different and he was one of the few agents allowed to retire with his complete memory intact, mostly because of Solo's standing with the organization."

Gibbs' lips twisted again. "And what _is_ Solo's standing in the organization? Is CEO even a real title? Does he have that much power?"

"I don't know for sure, but from watching SecNav's face the other day, I'd say yes. Jethro, this is not a man or an organization that you piss off and walk away from."

Gibbs ignored the warning in her words. "How long have you known?" Gibbs had turned from her to study her bookcase. "Did you know in Paris? In England?"

"I've known for less than thirty hours Jethro, and it sounds like you might know even more than I do. Trust me, I'm still coming to terms with it myself. It's been difficult to reconcile one with the other. Ducky is not what I picture when asked to conjure up a super-spy."

Gibbs hunched forward, his head resting in his hands. He projected such an air of defeat that Jenny wanted to reach out to him but didn't dare. Still leaning forward, he looked up at her. "You didn't see him throw that French cop over that cliff," Gibbs said. "You didn't see his eyes, Jenny. They were" -- he shook his head, unable to find the words -- "it was the first time in my life I was afraid of an unarmed man . . . an unarmed old man." He reached out across her desk and picked up a framed photo, fiddling with the frame. "I gotta find him, Jenny. I've got to find Tony. They're both out there because we didn't keep them safe. Hell, Tony's out there because I told him to follow them. Do we contact UNCLE or don't we?" He set the photo back down.

"Your decision at this point, Jethro, but I urge you to consider the consequences very seriously. They have resources we don't. Hell, I'm fairly sure they have technology we don't. But consider this Jethro, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo is your responsibility. Dr. Donald Mallard is your responsibility. Illya Kuryakin is UNCLE's responsibility. Determine what you're willing to lose and go from there."

Gibbs considered her words for a moment and then got up and headed towards the door. He stopped with one hand on the knob, "Would you have ever told me?"

"No."

"Would he?"

"I can't answer that but if it were me, if I carried the secrets he does, if I carried the responsibility and history that he does, no, I'd never have told."

Gibbs stared at her for a long moment and walked out.

* * *

Author's Notes:

The scars on Ducky's back that Greer uses as identification where caused in the MFU episode: **The Children's Day Affair** _Original airdate: December 10, 1965_. In the episode, THRUSH is running a school to train young assassins. The school is run by Mother Fear and Captain Jenks. When Illya is captured, Mother Fear takes a whip to Illya. Greer is one of the older children from the school that witnessed that torture.

The UNCLE Special -- specially designed modular Walther that allowed for multiple attachments. You could turn a handgun into a long range sniper rifle with just a few screw-on additions. Also, the Special was modified to allow the weapon to shoot bullets or to shoot fast-acting tranquilizer darts. That mysterious slide action on the gun that has Abby so puzzled would be the mechanism that allows for the darts to be used.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to steamfan for beta assistance once again.

* * *

**Past and Present Affair  
****Chapter 9  
****by Myrina and Uncle Charlie  
**

Flying -- Tony's first sensation was of flying, floating, weightlessly above the clouds, and then the pain began to wiggle in, insinuating itself into his shoulders, his wrists and his torso. He blinked. Blinking hurt. He was fairly sure that blinking wasn't supposed to hurt, but when everything hurt, he supposed blinking could hurt too. Since blinking hurt less than everything else, he did it again and gradually his eyelids crawled up enough for him to realize the situation at hand.

DiNozzo saw that he was hanging from a pipe above his head. That wellspring of knowledge where all his movie trivia resided helpfully tossed up: _like the side of beef in the first Rocky movie_. _1976. Sylvester Stallone, Talia Shire, Burgess Meredith_. He considered that it might be bad that he was attached to the pipe with his own handcuffs, especially considering what happened to that side of beef.

Tony gave his head a shake to loosen the cobwebs, and almost immediately let out a groan as his vision spun around him. Nausea hit him hard and fast and he heaved. Thankfully, the two slices of pizza he'd eaten were mostly gone. Swinging by his arms, he let out a low groan. Gibbs, he decided, would be very disappointed in him, and considering the pounding in his head, maybe this time Tony wouldn't let Gibbs hit him.

Knowing that Gibbs wouldn't want him to just hang there, Tony swallowed hard and slowly tilted his head back, and looked up at his hands for several long seconds, his mind slowly working over the problem. A goofy grin slowly spread across his face. He knew what he could do.

Doing however was easier said than done. It took several serious efforts for him to get his legs underneath him. Balance he discovered, when he finally managed to plant his feet, still needed a little work as he seemed to be slowly listing to the right. Feeling quite proud of his accomplishment, he sought to share, only to realize that the while he could hear voices he couldn't see the speakers.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

"You're really something, you know that? I never have this kind of trouble when I'm on my own, Illya."

"Your point being?" Tony recognized Ducky's voice, although it sounded wrong again. "Might I remind you that I did point out you had a much higher chance of getting killed in my company than not?"

"Just like the old days."

"Not exactly. If you hadn't noticed, Napoleon, neither of us are in our thirties and the innocent that has, through sheer dumb luck, got themselves involved is not a blonde with big-"

"How do you think our innocent is doing?" Tony heard Singleton interrupt.

_Or is it Nathan, or maybe Napoleon_. Tony wasn't sure anymore. Everyone seemed to be changing names. It was hard to keep track. _Maybe I ought to change my name. Matthew is a nice name. _

"I can't see him, but he's behind us somewhere. Mr. DiNozzo?" Ducky called. "Anthon?"

_Matthew_, Tony thought with a somewhat lopsided smirk. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't seem to get the words past his tongue. Then, as another wave of nausea washed over him, he snapped his mouth closed and tried to concentrate on breathing through his nose. A few moments later he had his stomach under control enough to risk trying to move. Turning his head slowly, he glanced over in their direction. Both men were apparently tied to a pipe, much like he was, he couldn't tell how or with what. All he could see were their backs.

"Apparently, he's still unconscious," Tony heard Ducky say. "I do hope he doesn't have a concussion. I suspect that they dosed him with the knock-out gas on top of that nasty knock to his head. You know how the uninitiated tend to react to those. Add in a concussion and there is no telling how his body will react."

_Not well_, Tony thought. _Not reacting well at all.  
_

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Napoleon studied the pipe that he and Illya were attached to. Experimentally he tugged his hand, and then smiled at the resulting growl of irritation from Illya. _Handcuffs. Greer had left them chained up by the simple step of moving their cuffed hands to the front and looping them around the backside of the pipe_. "Amateurs," he muttered derisorily.

"What was that?"

Illya's words were clipped and annoyed sounding and Napoleon could detect a much stronger Russian taint to the English accent. His partner was not amused. Ignoring Illya's question, Napoleon asked one of his own. "I'm seeing three options. One, we get ourselves out of this mess and go rescue Mr. DiNozzo. Two, we wait around for UNCLE to rescue us, which I'd really rather not. It's embarrassing. Three, we wait until Gibbs rescues us." Napoleon paused, considered his words, and then said, "Well, we wait until Gibbs rescues you and Mr. DiNozzo. Me, he'd probably leave here."

When Illya didn't answer, Napoleon sighed. _Russian snits_. They were the one thing he didn't miss about his partner but he'd long figured out the easiest and quickest way of annoying Illya back into conversation.

"You know you want to." Napoleon said cheerfully, carefully leaving out exactly what it was that Illya wanted to do.

As expected, Illya snapped back. "I want nothing of the sort, Napoleon.

"Then why are you wearing _that_ shirt and _that_ bowtie?"

"Nostalgia. Besides, I know how you are. I can't get within twenty feet of you without disaster striking."

"I'll grant you that one," Napoleon chuckled softly. "So, it's decided. We rescue ourselves."

Illya cut his eyes over at him, his expression unconvinced. "You're forgetting that they are armed. We are not."

"So you aren't even going to try?" Napoleon scoffed. "We're just going to sit here and wait for whatever is going to happen? They took our cell phones. I saw Agent DiNozzo's gun and belt on a table by the door when they brought us in. They didn't even search us."

"You're just offended that they no longer consider us a threat."

Napoleon harrumphed his displeasure. "Which is why, old friend, we need to show them otherwise."

"Napoleon-"

"If we escape, I'll let you blow up" -- he looked around their dismal accommodations -- "wherever it is that we are." Napoleon knew it would be a tempting offer as Illya didn't get much of a chance to blow things up anymore.

Illya went silent at that offer and Napoleon let him think. He'd pushed just about as far as he could at this point. Finally, Illya said, "Not being considered dangerous always was one of my advantages in a fight, but I'm only carrying two explosive charges."

Napoleon dropped his head to hide his grin of triumph. "I've got my two and the cufflinks pack more power than the buttons."

"Still not enough," Illya groused.

"I have faith in your abilities, partner mine. Besides, when was the last time you got to indulge that firebug tendency of yours?"

Illya sighed, although it sounded more contrived than real. "Fine. Your picks?"

"Lining of my tie. Can you . . .?"

Tony heard the sounds of movement and then the clanking of metal against metal. "No, the angle is wrong. Napoleon, I want you to take this with the seriousness of which it's offered. Pull on the end of my tie."

"Illya…" Singleton's voice trailed off. The sound of rustling came again, followed by a grunt. "Done." Singleton's voice sounded slightly muffled.

"I'm going to need a chiropractor after this," Ducky muttered darkly.

DiNozzo stood very carefully on his tiptoes, making sure not to make any sudden movements. But no matter which angle he tried, it was impossible to see over the men's backs to whatever it was they were doing.

"There it is."

"A lock pick," Singleton muttered, his voice pleased. "Smart Russian."

"Old UNCLE agent." _Uncle_, DiNozzo wondered, _whose uncle, Ducky's? Wouldn't that be Scrooge McDuck…no, wait, that's another Duck. Maybe he meant The Uncles, a 2001 movie, starring Chris Owen and Kelly Harms, directed by Jim Allody…what were we talking about?_ DiNozzo shook his head slowly and that's when he saw his weapon, along with his cell phone on a nearby table. If he only wasn't chained up, he'd be able to walk over there and call . . . someone.

"Ow," Ducky mumbled, sounding like he had a mouthful of marbles or something. "There, that does it." He turned slightly and glanced over at DiNozzo who had the common sense to play possum.

Through a thin slit of one eye, Tony watched Ducky's hand go to his mouth and pulled something out. His hand played at the wrist of his other hand and a moment later, the ME was free. Without a word, he turned his attention to Singleton. "Remind me to send UNCLE my hospital bill. I should be sitting at home in front of a nice warm fire at this time of night, not running all over DC with my former partner."

"Waiting for a call for your meat wagon." Singleton sat back as his hands were released. Slowly the pair made it to their feet.

Tony chose that moment to lift his head and grin moronically at them. "Hi guys, what are you doing here? How come you're not tied up? Is there a party?" Even though he seemed completely beyond comprehension, his mind was wearily trudging between the bits of information he'd overheard. Something just beyond his grasp eluded him.

"Do your parties often lead to you being tied up?" Singleton asked with a knowing smirk.

At Tony's bewildered, "Huh?" Ducky's hand shot out and punched Singleton in the arm. "Stop teasing the boy. He barely knows his own name."

_Do too_, Tony thought. _It's Matthew._

"Let's get you down, Mr. DiNozzo." Singleton said, reaching up towards Tony's manacled wrists.

_More names. No wonder it was all so confusing._ "DiNozzo, wait, that's my name too," Tony mumbled as he dropped his head against Ducky's shoulder and let Singleton work his hands free of his handcuffs. "I'm thinking of changing it though. Matthew is nice. Don't you think Matthew is nice?" He sagged abruptly against the smaller man as his wrists were released, but somehow the doctor kept him from sliding all the way to the floor. However the sudden jarring movement was too much for the tenuous control he had over his stomach and once again he heaved, gagging at the taste of bile as it burned the back of his throat.

Somewhat to his surprise, neither man moved from where they supported him, both of them simply holding on tightly until he could once again get his stomach under control.

"Gas or concussion?" Singleton asked, his voice filled with a knowing sympathy.

"Most likely both. I need to get a look at that head wound though," Ducky said, as the two men helped Tony to a chair and let him collapse into it.

"Napoleon, perhaps you should use one of those phones to call for an expedient rescue while I examine young Dinozzo. Anthony, look at me."

Tony winced as gentle fingers probed a tender area of his head. "Ouch, that's sort of hurts a lot, Ducky." Then he whispered, "Or should I call you Illya?"

No reaction flickered across the doctor's face. "No, you should call me Ducky, Mr. DiNozzo."

"Okay, it's our secret then…shh."

"That's right. Follow my finger with just your eyes…" Ducky turned from the agent to glance over his shoulder at Singleton. "Call an ambulance too Napoleon, he needs to get to a hospital."

Singleton was holding up the cell phone and staring at it. "Your people or mine?" he asked.

Ducky opened his mouth to answer and then reconsidered. "Mine, I think, and I'd probably best do the talking." He held out his hand for the phone. "Give me that and you keep him upright and talking."

Singleton nodded, and gathering up DiNozzo's Sig from the table, he tossed the cell phone to Ducky with a smooth underhanded toss. Taking the doctor's place, he slipped the gun into his jacket pocket.

Tony could hear Ducky's rather terse commands in the phone but his voice was so low that Tony couldn't tell what he was saying. That was okay. Ducky and Singleton were taking care of it. He snuggled into the warmth of Singleton's side and smiled happily when Singleton patted him gently on the side of his head. Pats were good. Maybe Singleton could explain pats instead of head slaps to Gibbs.

"Illya, what's Mr. DiNozzo's condition?"

"He's too far concussed to be able to tell what's real and what's not at the moment."

_Don't you believe that,_ Tony's brain grumbled to him. _This is primo stuff you're listening to. You could be just like a geriatric Deep Throat. _He sighed and leaned further into Singleton, taking a deep breath of man's aftershave. "You smell good," he murmured.

"Thank you Agent DiNozzo, so do you." Singleton was standing with his back to the door when it opened and he spun, unconsciously shielding the young man behind him, just as Ducky moved to immediately take a position in front of Singleton.

Tony, his prop abruptly lost, swayed dangerously before he found himself leaning forward into Singleton's back and peeking out from beneath the man's arm.

"The brave Russian agent willing to do anything to save his American partner - now where have I seen this picture before? Let's see, it'll come to me." Greer grinned, his gun moving slowly between his targets.

Ducky felt a tremble roll through him as adrenaline surged through him. "Greer, back for more gloating?"

Greer went to the table and glanced down at the surface. "There seems to be a few things missing. Do you voluntarily give them up or do we search you? Say no, my men would love to work you over one last time."

"DiNozzo," Singleton whispered. "Your gun is in my pocket, do you have a clear shot?"

"This is just like in the Godfather," DiNozzo said, loudly enough to draw Greer's attention. "Well, maybe the second one, which was actually a little better than the first one, unless you were into horses. I don't like horses. Ddo you like horses?"

"Imbecile; your CEA is an imbecile," Greer announced. "Really Mr. Solo, I would have thought you, at least, would have hired better. Your partner here was made of much sterner stuff." Greer's attention shifted over Ducky. "I remember beating on you for three days and you never made a sound."

"And my back thinks of you every time it rains," Ducky muttered.

"I can't help but wonder how long you'll last this time. You and your idiot CEA." He never even had the chance to register the gunfire. Two bullets hit Greer, one high in the chest, the other low in the stomach. The third bullet went wide embedding itself in the far wall.

"I don't think so," DiNozzo said, sitting up straighter in the chair. "Never underestimate the naivety of the bad guys." He swayed slightly and was rather relieved when Singleton snatched the gun out of his hand. "I don't feel so good Duck," Tony groaned.

"Neither do I." Ducky watched blood spider along his side, staining his white shirt where one of the bullets had grazed him.

"You all right?" The words were said lightly, but there was a tension in Singleton's voice and body that registered through Tony's swirling thoughts. Only when Ducky smiled ruefully at them both did that tension ease off.

"I'm all right." Ducky twisted slightly to inspect his side. "It could be worse," he said. "Considering that Mr. DiNozzo there is practically high as a kite, we're lucky he hit Greer at all. The last time he tried that, he was in full control of all his faculties and the poor unfortunate standing near the target still lost part of his ear." The doctor reached down and applied pressure to his side. "Why is it I'm always the one who ends up bleeding, Solo?"

"I guess it's because no one instinctively wants to mar perfection, partner of mine."

Ducky snorted. "I think your ego has grown with your age." Apparently deciding that his injury wasn't severe, he left it to return to DiNozzo. A noise drew his attention. "And it sounds like company. Could be either Greer's people or Jethro. We need to get out of here and get Anthony to a hospital."

"And me too," DiNozzo suggested, leaning back against Solo, his weight staggering the older man.

"C'mon . . .Matthew was it? Let's get you and us out of here." Napoleon draped the NCIS agent's limp arm around his neck and wrapped a supporting arm around the young man's waist. "This was easier when I was younger," he muttered, half walking half carrying the man to the door.

"It also helped that your partner weighed considerably less." Ducky scooped up Greer's gun and popped the clip out of it. He slapped it back into place and pulled the bolt to check it. "I'm full here."

He slid to one side of the door and glanced out. Cautiously he stepped into the doorway and darted a quick look left and right. The noise was coming from the right, so he stepped cleared and gestured. "That way, I think."

They'd moved down the corridor a few hundred feet when a flash of light stopped them. Instinctively, Ducky leveled the weapon and aimed.

"Freeze, Federal Agent!"

Ducky stayed his hand at the last minute, catching a curse in his throat. "Timothy, it's us."

"Ducky?" Almost immediately the zenon light beam was dropped to the floor and the ME blinked furiously to clear the spots before his eyes. "Man, am I glad to see you." McGee brought a small comm up to his mouth. "Boss, I got 'em." Then he was really seeing them for the first time. "Tony!"

Solo was glad to be relieved of his burden as McGee rushed forward and hefted the man off him.

Tony grinned at McGee. "Hiya, probie."

"Hi, Tony."

"Your hair's pretty."

McGee's eyes widened in alarm and he frantically sought Ducky's gaze. "Umm, what's wrong with him?"

"He has a severe concussion . . . among other things. You need to get him to the hospital as quickly as you can. Where's Jethro?"

"He went around back." McGee said, as they headed back towards the entrance he'd come in. "We brought an ambulance. I'll get Tony situated." Then he noticed the red stain growing on the ME's shirt. "Uh, Ducky, looks like you could use some medical attention as well."

"I'm fine," Ducky said, waving him off before turning to his partner. "Napoleon, he's walking into an ambush." Ducky took a step and Solo grabbed his arm.

Sneaking a fast look at McGee, who was watching the both of them with an intense curiosity, Solo whispered. "You're not a thirty year old UNCLE agent anymore. You've been shot, drugged and beaten up."

"You can't stop me." Ducky pushed the man aside and turned back towards the interior of the building.

Solo growled, the sound causing McGee to instinctively tense. "I didn't say you couldn't go, but you could have at least waited, you pigheaded Rus-" Abruptly, he stopped and turned to McGee. "Comm," he demanded.

McGee didn't even hesitate and shifted Tony so he could pass Singleton the small communicator.

"Gibbs!" Singleton snarled into the comm. unit.

"Who is this?" came back the equally snarled response.

Tony, still draped over McGee, giggled into Tim's shoulder. "Two big dogs fighting." Tim had to agree and was very thankful that he wasn't between those two dogs.

"Ill…Ducky…he's headed back inside."

"What? Of all the stupid…McGee, why did you let him do that?"

McGee leaned over to speak into the comm. "I didn't know, Boss. I was busy with Tony…Singleton told me."

Solo pulled back the comm and spoke into it, his words clipped and terse. "Gibbs, there are at least two gunmen inside. They are armed and very dangerous and you're headed right for them."

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

A bullet ricochet off the wall by his face and Gibbs ducked back, even as cement shards caught his neck.

"Tell me something I don't know," he yelled into the comm. unit.

"Ducky's armed."

"Just like old times," Gibbs said, risking another glance to send a round back towards his target.

There was something in Gibbs' tone that let Napoleon know that Gibbs knew more than what he was saying. "I mean, really armed." Napoleon flicked his eyes in McGee's direction, but the man had his hands full with DiNozzo who seemed intent on sliding down to the floor. "My kind of armed, and he's heading in your direction. My advice would be to grab that delectable Officer David and get the hell out of there."

"Not without Ducky."

"I'll take care of him, you just clear out. Now!"

"Forget it…Solo," Gibbs growled the last word, putting all his cards on the table. "My friend's in here."

_So he did know. Or at least he knew some. So be it_. "Your friend, but my _partner_," he said, emphasizing the last word. "That makes him my responsibility. I've been watching his back for too long to stop now. You take care of your own team." Napoleon whistled and when McGee looked up, he tossed the comm unit back to him. He started towards the building.

"Hey, Singleton!" Napoleon paused, half expecting the younger agent to try and talk him out of his mission, but McGee flashed him a thumbs up.

"Give 'em hell, man."

"Oh," he promised, "of that I assure you."

Years of close association and lots of practice told Solo the path the Russian would take back into the building. Never one to retrace footsteps, Illya would instinctively go deep and come back up, hopefully behind both victim and attacker. Using the sound of gunfire as an audible clue, Napoleon moved carefully, keeping his footing as steady as possible. A tumble would be bad right now.

Sure enough, Solo rounded a corner and saw a familiar shape. Suddenly, years melted away and he flashed upon an image; his partner, both of them, young, adrenaline pumping through their veins, the sheer reality of death being moments away making life seem that much more enticing, and Illya, grinning like a maniac, turning to shout something before grabbing his partner to race away with a fireball on their heels. A slight grunt and reality popped Solo back. Even if Illya were to set a charge, there would be no way Solo could out-run anything anymore. His damned leg saw to that. It was just all he could do to walk at this point.

"Taking a little longer than usual, Kuryakin?" He'd learned as a very young man to make his partner aware of his presence early on. He was proud of the fact that it had only taken him a broken rib once and a black eye the second time to remember this. While the man was older, Solo had no doubt that Illya still retained much of his strength; he'd felt it earlier in a muscled back, although it was probably now more likely due to manhandling dead bodies around more than working out.

The still blond head bobbed and a blood-streaked hand reached out to him. "Cuff links? And your watch, I think."

"You can't be serious. I was joking earlier. Illya, Gibbs and David are still in the building." Never the less, Solo handed over the requested items.

"How much of a timer does this have?" Ducky ignored Napoleon's words and squinted at the watch, wishing for the umpteenth time for his glasses. He took a moment to rub his eyes and returned to the timepiece.

"Never enough in situations like this."

"I'm serious, Napoleon.

"So am I." Solo watched him. "Illya, I can hardly walk. There's no way I can get out of the way of a blast."

"Then I shall carry you. God knows, it wouldn't be the first time." Ducky flicked open the back of the watch to study the timing mechanism. "I can set it for thirty minutes. That should be more than enough time to do what we have to do."

Napoleon couldn't help grinning. "To think I used to call you a pessimist."

"And, mark. Now do you want to stand here talking about it or get the hell out of here?" Ducky grabbed Solo's arm, fitting up under it as if he was especially made for it and two of them headed towards the sound of gunfire.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Gibbs ducked back, just a moment before sensing a presence at his side. A whiff of perfume and gunpowder told him David had joined him.

"There are two, there and there." Gibbs indicated the positions with the muzzle of his Sig.

"That way is blocked, so they are, in effect, between us and freedom."

"Two against two. We could rush them."

"You mean, like that movie that Tony was rambling on about last week? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Guy."

"Kid, the Sundance Kid. I'm thinking that's not quite the resulting scenario I'm hoping for here." Gibbs let go another shot, just to keep their attackers interested. "You take the right, I'll take the left."

And then much like the movie, it was over in a blaze. The gunmen were on the floor, dead or dying. Guns were removed and David toed one. "This one isn't too bad, Gibbs. We should be able to question him."

It was then that two disheveled old men shuffled around the far corner, their arms around each other's shoulders and a pistol in each free hand.

"Outside," Singleton's voice was strangely muffled to Gibb's ears following the gun retorts. "This whole building is coming down."

"What?" David glanced around. Nothing had changed from a moment ago, everything looked solid and secure.

"Trust me on this one, my dear." Singleton stepped away from Ducky and reached out a hand to help her to her feet. "We need to leave right now. We have less than-" his eyes cut across to Ducky.

"Twelve minutes," the ME supplied, something like anticipation sounding in his voice.

"Until what?" Gibbs murmured an aside to Singleton.

"Until my partner does what he does best and blows this place to kingdom come."

Gibbs felt a flash of annoyance. "With what?" he demanded. "You weren't exactly carrying C-4."

Singleton sent him a grin, also full of some weird kind of anticipation. "You don't want to know."

Ducky; dirtied, blood-streaked and obviously exhausted, but still in the game, nodded in agreement. "He's right. Time is of the essence now."

"Fine," Gibbs conceded with ill grace. "Duck, this guy is still alive. Can you stabilize him so we can get him out?"

"Officer David, if you would help my friend." Ducky knelt beside the fallen THRUSH agent, his fingers searching for a pulse. "I'll be right along."

Gibbs paced the corridor, acting as a guard for the kneeling doctor and wounded man. He was nearly at the door when he spun back around intent upon urging the ME along. The countdown in head was chiming five minutes left. He turned to see Ducky kneeling beside the fallen enemy agent. No matter what the man might have been, there was a kindness to his movements as his hands traveled over the body of the man. But there was no kindness, no gentleness, and no regret as the doctor clutched the man's neck and twisted it sharply.

Gibbs breath caught in his throat as those blue eyes turned to him, seeing without seeing, immediately grasping the situation without concern for the consequences. The man slowly rose, dropping the body to the cement floor and hurried past Gibbs, catching his arm as he did.

Half dragging, half restraining, the men left the building just as the first rumbles started. Within moments, they were consumed in a choking cloud of dust and debris. When everything settled, the NCIS team was alone. There was no sign of either older man. It was if they weren't really there at all.

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

Gibbs sipped the amber liquid and set the glass jar back down. Tonight the bourbon wasn't helping. Everything he thought he's known about his friend was proving wrong. A man so capable of such tenderness and great kindness had snapped a man's neck without a moment's hesitation. That wasn't Ducky, not his Ducky, not the man who rambled on about Scottish castles, English traditions, African rituals and a host of other things. The man he had seen tonight was nothing like that and he didn't quite know what to do about it. He certainly couldn't pretend he hadn't seen those things. He would never be able to look Ducky in the eye again and see the kind humanitarian. That man was dead to him now, replaced by an imposter, a cold-blooded killer.

A noise drew his attention and he glanced over as a familiar shape made its way down the stairs into his basement. A familiar shape, but a stranger, none the less.

"Таким образом Вы знаете" _So you know _It was strange to hear Ducky speak Russian, but come to think of it, it was one of the few languages Gibbs had never heard him use – French, German, Arabic and a host of other, but never Russian. Too close for comfort, probably.

"Да."_ Yes._

"Что Вы собираетесь делать с этим?"_ What are you going to do about it? _Ducky, no, Kuryakin's voice seemed hopeful, like he wanted to just sweep this aside, but they both knew that wouldn't happen

"Вы подразумеваете, что у меня есть выбор?"_ You mean I have a choice?_ Gibbs already knew the answer to this question, but he needed to ask it anyway. His gun was within easy reach and he knew he could drop the man where he stood, but experience told him the ME was unarmed, still trusting in their friendship to keep him safe.

"Нет, не действительно. Вы должны забыть, что это случилось"._ No, not really. You need to forget this happened._ Regret now tinged the Ducky's voice. He continued his descent in the basement and rested a hand upon a rib of the boat Gibbs was forever crafting, stroking the wood in an absent-minded fashion.

"Как я делаю это? Как мы возвращаемся туда, где мы были? Кем Вы были?" _How do I do that? How do we go back to where we were? Who you were?_

"I am who I've always been and we can't go back, Jethro. We have to go forward." It took Jethro a moment to realize that Ducky had switched to English. "But what I need to know is, can you live with this?"

"You mean, can I ever trust you again, Duck? I don't know." Gibbs reached for the jar again, realizing just how close his hand was to his service weapon. Perhaps it was a show of trust that he didn't reach for it instead. "I want to, but this is…kinda big."

"Ya think?" Ducky flung back the phrase that Gibbs was famous for. "And yet isn't this exactly what you wanted? I asked you to trust me and you couldn't do that. So you pushed and schemed and dug where you had no right to dig."

"You didn't tell me." There was a feeling of betrayal in the words, a whine that Gibbs wasn't sure he liked hearing in his own voice.

Ducky shrugged. "We all have secrets Jethro. I am not obligated to tell you everything. And those that live in glass houses . . . well, I don't think you have the right to be throwing any stones."

Gibbs flinched at the censure in the ME's voice, but his sense of betrayal was still too strong to give the words the thought and credence they needed. "That wasn't the first man you'd killed," he said instead. "Where did you learn to…?" He imitated the move he'd watched earlier.

Ducky gave him a long considering look before he finally answered. "KGB. I was a trained assassin by the time I was seventeen. UNCLE offered me more than just a way out of Russia. It gave me a chance to help change the world, through means other than violence." Ducky swept a handful of hair off his forehead, an old gesture and one he avoided now. "The man I killed was the only one left alive who could have told THRUSH, indeed the world, that Illya Kuryakin still lived. I couldn't allow that. Now, I need to be able to count on your discretion, Jethro. If not, I will be dead by the end of the week."

"It's Thursday, Duck."

"I know that, Jethro." Ducky ran a hand over the smooth wood of the rib again. "In short, my life is in your hands."

"You looked pretty capable back there." Even Gibbs could hear the bitterness in his voice.

"I am not that man any longer, nor do I wish to be. I should not have let Napoleon stay. I should have just dealt with the situation discreetly and been done with it but he wished to meet all of you and I must admit that there was a part of me that wished for all of you to meet him."

"So are you leaving now?"

Ducky shook his head. "No, I would prefer not…unless it is the only option left for me." He moved closer to the man, but still kept a respective distance away. "I…cherish what I have now. This is the most normal life I have ever had. I like my job, I have good friends, a family really, I don't want to lose that…or you, for that matter. In spite of your flaws, Agent Gibbs, I am quite fond of you." His voice softened and he looked down at the Sig. "I'm merely asking for your silence on this matter."

"Ducky-" Gibbs' eyes suddenly shifted as a soft creak drew his attention and his hand went for the gun. It was gone, slid into a jacket pocket by the ME in that fraction of a moment. An UNCLE Special coughed and Gibbs turned an accusative glare at Ducky as he slowly started to crumble to the floor.

"I am sorry, Jethro," Ducky whispered, catching the man before he could hurt himself. He glanced over his shoulder as he felt a presence. "What the hell did you do that for, Napoleon? You didn't have to shoot him."

"Yes we did, Illya." Solo voice was soft, coaxing. "For the good of the Command . . . and for you, this had to stop here. I'm sorry, old friend."

"I wish I could believe that Napoleon, but your credibility is stretched a little thin at the moment." Ducky cradled the man in his arms, wishing that just once in his life, things were easy, were normal.

"No loose ends, you know how we operate."

Ducky glared back at Napoleon. "He wasn't a loose end…he was my friend."

Solo snapped his fingers and three agents appeared as if from thin air. For a moment, he wasn't sure the Russian was going to relinquish his hold upon Gibbs. In the old days, three agents would have been just an appetizer before the match, but the man seemed to acknowledge his limitations now and he reluctantly let the man be removed from his grasp and followed the agents out.

"I'm sorry, Illya, I really am." Solo placed a hand on the ME's forearm as he passed.

"I'm not the one you have to explain that to." He shrugged out of the grasp and continued on. "Excuse me, I have work to do, Mr. Solo."

Napoleon watched his ex-partner walk stiffly up the stairs, letting him go. Turning his gaze over the now empty basement, he studied the half-built boat taking up the space. Napoleon had always loved sailing and knew boats and the look of fine craftsmanship. "It is a pity, Agent Gibbs," he said, speaking softly to the empty room. "Under other circumstances, I think we could have found common ground."

* * *

**  
Author's Notes**

**  
The Innocent** -- The Man from Uncle episodes had a tradition of always involving an "innocent" bystander in the storyline. This person was usually a pretty young woman and she would end up helping in bringing about the downfall of the bad guys and was usually fodder for Napoleon's roving eye. For this story, Tony is the traditional innocent.

**  
Being chained to an overhead pipe** -- this is a nod to UNCLE episode tradition where Napoleon or Illya or both were chained up, often with overhead pipes being involved.

**  
Explosives** -- this is another nod to UNCLE. UNCLE had lots of James Bond-esque type gadgets. Exploding buttons and cufflinks were always a favorite. As for the firebug tendencies, Illya was considered to be an expert in explosives and was kept a month after his graduation from Survival School to teach an explosives class to other agents and was considered the UNCLE 'in-house' expert. Many a UNCLE episode ended with Illya blowing up the headquarters of the bad guys as he and Napoleon raced away with minutes to spare.


	10. Chapter 10

**Past and Present Affair  
****Chapter 10/Epilogue  
****by Myrina and Uncle Charlie**

Closing the door to the basement, Napoleon wound his way through Gibbs' house until he reached the living room. Sitting down heavily on the couch, he cradled his Special in his hands, his thumb sweeping over the grip. He was afraid that Illya would not forgive him for this one, even if he had only shot the NCIS agent with one of the tranq darts rather than a bullet.

In the bedroom down the hall he could hear the Psych team working on Agent Gibbs. They were good at their jobs, efficient, as all UNCLE personnel were. It would be over soon. A dull pain hit him in the heart at the thought of what he would have to do if Illya didn't forgive him. Even knowing the ache was more psychological than physical he couldn't resist the urge to press the heel of his right hand over the spot. _Yes, it could very well all be over soon_. Damn THRUSH and Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who just couldn't leave well enough alone.

Solo dropped his hand as he watched Illya come back up the hallway, his limp more heavily noticeable. Napoleon didn't say anything until his ex-partner sat down in the chair opposite him; Illya's expression closed off and his eyes shuttered.

_Over after all_, he thought. So Napoleon gave the offer that he'd always promised himself that he'd follow through on when the day came. "The personality overlay foundations have been set in you for years, old f-" He bit off the words, unsure if he was even allowed to say them anymore. They were words of recognition of years of friendship and affection, and what he was about to offer would wipe that all away. His voice was surprisingly steady when he continued, "The memory overlays only needed activating. The Psych team is here. When they finish with Agent Gibbs, it will only take them a little while longer to remove me and mine from your memories -- you would truly be Donald Mallard."

When Illya did nothing more than lean back into the chair with a sigh . . . of regret, relief, Napoleon wasn't sure, but he knew he had his answer. Climbing to his feet, he holstered his Special and took a couple of steps towards the hallway. "It has been a pleasure, Ill-" again, he cut off the words, and then laughed softly at himself. This was work. This was business. This was what he'd devoted his whole life towards. He could do this one last thing. "It's been a pleasure knowing you Dr. Mallard."

He was halfway down the hall when Illya stopped him with a word. "Napoleon."

Napoleon half turned. His former partner had not moved from the chair. "You would let me go, just as easily as that? Am I that effortlessly forgotten, without even a regret?"

"I didn't say that," he answered, quite proud of how steady his voice sounded in spite of the churning emotions inside him.

"You would be alone," Ducky said. He didn't say just how alone Napoleon would be. With Illya's memories of UNCLE suppressed, gone would be the only person who knew and remembered Napoleon Solo, the man. All that would be left were those people that saw -- Mr. Solo, Number One of Section One New York, and the first among equals of the governing council of five that commanded the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.

Napoleon shrugged. "Protecting me and putting up with me over the years has been as much about our partnership as it has simply been a part of the job for you. Someone points a gun at me, and you will step into the line of fire. It's what you do. It's what you were trained to do. This time the bullet is the past and maybe, now it's my turn to step in the way for you." Napoleon laughed, though the sound contained very little mirth. "Didn't Mr. Waverly use to say that we were all expendable?"

When Illya -- _think of him as Ducky__ now__,_ Napoleon admonished himself -- didn't answer the question, Napoleon turned back towards the bedroom.

"Stop, you idiot."

Napoleon stopped, but didn't turn back around.

Behind him he could hear Ducky get up and come down the hallway, his steps sounding out unevenly on the floors. Napoleon's breath caught as he felt Ducky -- Illya -- lean into his back, the other man resting just his forehead between his shoulder blades. The warmth, the strength was so reassuring, so familiar, that Napoleon could no longer remember a time when it wasn't there . . . when Illya wasn't there. "It has always been more than just partnership and the job," Illya said softly. "It still is and you know it. I swear, I don't know sometimes how they could put someone as stupid as you in charge. They should have listened to me and promoted Mason."

"You know what they say about great minds think alike…" He risked a look over his shoulder at the Russian.

"And how fools seldom differ. Yes, Napoleon, I know the saying." Ducky took a step backward, towards the couch. "I'm sorry, but I really do need to sit down. Neither of us are the men we used to be." Moving to the couch, he sat carefully, minding his side. "Napoleon, I do understand." He shook his head, his eyes solemn and filled with a lifetime of hard choices. "I may not always like the alternatives, but I do understand. And I am . . . content . . . to have things continue as they may. I, for one, do not fear the past nor do I wish to forget the faces of my enemies . . . or my friends." He smiled then, the shadows fading from his eyes. "Besides, who would I play golf with on Sunday if not you?"

And Napoleon knew he was forgiven. "And after golf?" Solo asked playfully, taking a step closer to the man as he tested the waters of just how far that forgiveness was running.

"We can discuss that later," Ducky said with a nod and Napoleon was content with that for now.

They both looked up as a lab-coated man approached them, his steps brisk and efficient. "We're just about done conditioning Agent Gibbs," Dr. LaRue informed them. "I was wondering if there was any memory that you wanted implanted to explain last night."

"I think I might be able to provide one or two," Ducky said, rising with a grunt. "Napoleon, go back to your hotel and get some rest."

"What about DiNozzo?"

"Young Anthony can wait until tomorrow. You old friend, cannot. I'll finish up here."

**NCIS-MFU-NCIS**

The first thought that crossed Gibbs' mind, once he realized that he was really awake, was to wonder what sort of animal had crawled into his mouth to die. Gibbs managed to get one sleep-crusted eye open and was rewarded by a canted view of his boat.

What the hell was he doing in his basement? He tried to think, but his brain had different ideas and kept flashing confusing images and shapes that made no sense at all.

"Ah, Jethro, you're finally awake!" Gibbs scraped his head up off the work bench and glanced over at the staircase as Ducky made his way haltingly down. The ME held out a large paper cup towards him "I thought you might be needing this."

Gibbs grasped the cup as if it was his only salvation in a world gone mad. A cautious sip and then a series of hearty gulps brought a feeble smile to his lips. "Thanks, Ducky, you always know how to wake a man up in the morning."

"After all this time, I should hope so. How are you feeling?"

"There are no words to describe it." Gibbs scrubbed one hand up through his hair, scratching hard at his scalp. "But if I had to pick a few, 'like hell' pretty much sums it up."

Ducky chuckled softly in what Gibbs hoped was sympathy. "Yes, I rather thought that and actually remarked upon it last night when you started the second bottle." He lifted one of the two empty bourbon bottles from the work bench and shook his head. "You my friend, are going to have the mother of all hang-overs."

A vague and rather fuzzy memory stirred and Gibbs frowned trying to grab hold of it. "That I do think I remember you saying last night." He took another long draw at the coffee and stared around at the basement as if trying to put pieces together. "I just don't understand why."

"You don't remember last night? Your rescuing of Mr. Singleton, Anthony and myself?"

"Not really…sort of…" Gibbs broke off, his frown deepening as he tried to concentrate. "I remember the building going up."

"Yes, the Fire Marshall has already called to get my statement. I believe they are leaning towards something to do with a stray bullet and chemicals in the building.

"Chemicals?" Gibbs asked in confusion.

Ducky's expression shifted towards a pleased satisfaction that made no sense to Gibbs' befuddled mind. "Yes, chemicals, due to the initial explosion and how the fire burned hotter than the Fire Marshall could account for. But I'm sure it will all be explained in the official report."

"Right, the Fire Marshall would be called in," Gibbs answered absently, as if that knowledge had just occurred to him. He got to his feet, swaying slightly. "It's weird, Duck – it's like there's a bad 'B' movie playing in my head."

"Perhaps Anthony can help with that, movies seem to be his forte. And speaking of young Anthony, I'm on my way to Bethesda to see him this morning. Would you like to ride long? I have the Morgan outside." Ducky reached out and straightened the man's lapel. "Although you might want to take a shower first – you look as though you had a long night."

"But you're okay?"

"Yes Jethro," Ducky said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "I am fine. I'm always fine."

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

The hospital room was dark in deference to the light sensitivity caused by whatever drug he'd been given, but not so much so that DiNozzo couldn't identify the shape of the man who approached him. Two larger shapes, like shadows, followed behind him.

"Mr. Singleton," he acknowledged as the man drew closer. Singleton turned to murmur something to the closest man and the two withdrew back out the door where Tony could just see them taking up guard positions. Singleton approached the bed and studied him. With his head bandaged, Tony knew he had quite the rakish look. He'd already had two different, and lovely, nurses tell him so.

"You look like a pirate, Mr. DiNozzo." A quick grin flashed across Singleton's face. "Or should I call you Matthew?"

Tony returned the other man's grin. "Well, none of us are what we seem, Mr. Singleton. Or should I call you Napoleon?"

Napoleon eased himself into a nearby chair with snort of amusement. "No, that we are not. However, what we are still remains to be seen. You were privy to a situation last night that never should have happened. My recklessness and failure to anticipate led to a very bad chain of events. I sincerely apologize for your injury."

Tony leaned back in the bed and pursed his lips, debating on exactly how much he should admit to. "There is a lot that is fuzzy about last night but I have a pretty good idea of what was and wasn't. You and Ducky, you were agents . . . and UNCLE's real, not just a spook fairy-tale?"

"Real," Napoleon acknowledged. "And yes, I still am, but Illya . . .Ducky opted out after he was retired from the field. He's been safe all these years, until last night, when fate and bad luck conspired against us."

"Wow," Tony breathed in delight. "Ducky was a spy. You're a spy. How cool is that?"

Singleton laughed. "Very cool, Mr. DiNozzo, right up until the bad guys capture you and string you up."

That threw a bucket of cold water on Tony's glee. "The bad guys always ruin things. Greer didn't even know Ducky was there, did he?" Tony asked, though it was really more of a statement.

"Greer was aiming for me. He had no idea of my partner's presence until he opened the limo and Illya came tumbling out." Napoleon leaned forward upon his cane and fastened dark brown eyes upon Tony. "And now I have to know before leaving this room if Illya's safety is now in jeopardy."

"Not sure I follow you, Mr. Singleton." Tony easily switched back to the other name.

Singleton nodded at the change and Tony felt an odd surge of pride, much like he felt when he earned that elusive bit of praise from Gibbs. "What you heard, what you saw, none of it ever happened. If you cannot give me assurance that it will be forgotten, then I will be forced to take measures to prevent that information from being released. Because of your head injury and the complications from the knockout gas, we were hesitant to take those precautions last night. Personally, I would prefer to rely upon your sworn word."

"You must really trust me."

"Ducky does," Singleton said, and Tony noted the switch in names. "He has given me his assurance that you are a man who can keep secrets. I am still alive because of my trust in him and now you are being asked to carry a similar burden."

"I don't understand."

"It's simple, Agent DiNozzo. Everyone in that building last night is either dead or had the memory of our time there removed from their memories, with the exception of the two of us and my partner. Illya Kuryakin is long dead and must remain that way. If THRUSH, or any other number of individuals and organizations were to find out he lived, that would not be the case for very long. He made some extremely powerful enemies during his time with our organization, but as long as Dr. Mallard lives and Illya Kuryakin does not, he is safe. Do you understand me?"

"Are you saying that you messed with everyone's memories?" The idea was a rather scary one and Tony wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"Only enough to assure us of our security."

"Even Gibbs?" Tony could hear the awed amazement in his question.

A corner of Singleton's lips drew up in a crooked smile. "Ducky saw to that one personally."

Still trying to wrap his mind around everything, Tony blurted out, "But why do you trust me?"

"It's hard to say," Singleton said with a shrug. "Possibly because you remind me a little of myself at your age or possibly because a man I trust more than any other, tells me it's safe to do so. Maybe because I think it would do him good to have someone there at NCIS to _know_; to share the burden of his secret without actually prying into it. It really doesn't matter. What matters, is can you keep quiet?"

Tony winced. _Prying into that secret_. Yeah, he knew why Gibbs wasn't being asked to share this for all that he was closer to Ducky. Sometimes you had to know when you couldn't cross the line. Not because you didn't want to, but simply because the other person _didn't_ want you to.

Studying the blanket over his lap for a long moment, Tony absently smoothed out the wrinkles. This is exactly what Abby had been talking about, the mother of all secrets. Would it consume him or could he handle it? No one had ever placed this much responsibility upon him. Even when he'd gone undercover, other people had shared the secret and he'd always been able to talk to someone if needed. "And if I couldn't keep my mouth shut?" he asked with a trace of nervousness, wanting and not wanting to know the outcome if he failed.

Again there was that flash of approval in Singleton's eyes. "At best, your memory would be wiped and a false one put in its place." And then the approval vanished to be replaced by something hard and uncompromising that sent a cold chill down Tony spine. "At worse, Mr. DiNozzo, if you talked and caused harm to come to Illya, I would personally track you down and kill you. Slowly, painfully and with no regret whatsoever."

Tony blinked. "Well, gee, when you put it like that, how could a fella turn that down?"

"Is that a yes?"

Tony's grin slowly returned. _Ducky was a spy, a real, honest to goodness, 00-James Bond spy and not like those assholes over at the CIA. How could he not agree?_ "Yes," he said.

Napoleon nodded, and stood slowly, using his cane to ease his way to his feet. His leg was not a happy camper this morning. He turned to leave and then paused. Reaching into a jacket pocket, he withdrew a card. "For emergencies, or if you ever get tired of small potatoes and want to run with the big dogs. I see untapped potential in you, Mr. DiNozzo."

As Singleton stepped out the room, his guards falling into step with him, Tony held up the yellow-gold card in the dimmed light to study it. Plain card stock. Nothing fancy or flashy. It held only a single telephone number. Tony let out a small sigh of relief. Yeah, these guys were beyond cool, but kind of terrifying too.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Ducky was zipping the last body bag closed as the doors to Autopsy whispered open and he waited, half expecting Jethro's chiding voice. He was surprised to hear the director's voice instead.

"So are we all finished here?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "This is the remaining body from last night. All the other information has been collected and turned over."

"I didn't like this, Ducky." Her voice was hard, sharp-edged and his knee-jerk reaction was to answer with a barbed comment of his own.

_Too much time in Napoleon's presence_, he thought, and pushed the impulse back down. "Nor did I, Director, and I can assure you that it won't happen again."

"I have your word on that?" Sheppard asked.

He turned to face her full on, meeting her eyes. "Such as it is, yes. But if he calls, I will respond. If there is a situation that falls under his jurisdiction, I will inform him. Of that I have no choice or qualms."

"Then we shall have to pray for future silence." She spun on a heel and headed for the door. "But for what it's worth, I'm glad you stayed." And she was gone.

"But for how long, Director?" Ducky murmured.

**MFU-NCIS-MFU**

Gibbs leaned against the elevator wall and wondered for the fourth time in as many minutes what possessed him to drink so much last night. Four Tylenol and three cups of coffee later and his head still felt like it wanted to split open. He hadn't gone on a drinking binge like that one in years. And come to think of it, Ducky had been part of that one too. Perhaps this was a cautionary tale, after all, something about hanging with the wrong crowd.

The elevator door opened and Abby practically skipped in, tucking her parasol under her arm.

"Oh, Gibbs, Gibbs, you gotta come down to the lab. I found something, something big."

"And what would that be, Abs?" He avoided looking at her as just her usual exuberance for life was making him slightly queasy.

"I figured out that UNCLE web site, the one with all the broken links. They aren't really broken. If you take all the misspelled words from the site, you have a code that you can-" She broke off at his head shake. "What?"

"Abs, Abs, that UNCLE stuff, it's all just a fairy tale. Something you tell agents when you want to keep them in line."

"You didn't seem to think so yesterday," she protested. "In fact, you seemed pretty hot to find them. And I'm pretty sure that this code thing is really-"

"Well, that was yesterday and today is today," he interrupted. "Just drop it."

"But, Gibbs." Her protest was a near wail and caused the pain in his head to spike.

"Drop it, Abby. We already wasted far too much time on this. We've got more important things to think about."

He exited the elevator just as Ducky entered.

"Good afternoon, my dear," Ducky said and then frowned at her grin. "Is there something wrong? You look like the cat that ate the canary." He shifted uneasily as her gaze became even more intense.

"Oh, just flashing back on something I said yesterday about sandwiches." She linked her arm with his and her smile grew even more brilliant. "So Ducky, do you have plans for lunch? I'm starving."

* * *

Here ends The Past and Present Affair. I originally started this story because I couldn't get the idea of "Illya as Ducky" out of my head. It certainly isn't a new or novel idea, but when I went searching on the net for fics that fit this description I could only find five or six stories. More were obviously needed. :-) So, in grand fanfic tradition, if I couldn't find it, I had to write it myself. The only problem with that was that I'm supposed to be deep into writing another fanfiction on FFN that I must finish before my readers kill me. (The HP fandom is very tolerant of my laziness).

That's when Uncle Charlie stepped in and made this story a reality. Without Charlie, this story would probably still be sitting at chapter four. If you want some good Man from UNCLE case-fic, please do go over and read some of Charlie's stories. (http://www[dot]fanfiction[dot]net/u/1474896/Uncle_Charlie) You won't be disappointed.

Last but not least, thanks to steamfan for beta-ing the chapters. She was very patient about correcting the same type of errors over and over again. However, in my own defense I did warn her beforehand about my hate-hate relationship with commas.

Thanks to everyone reading and I hope you enjoyed the story.

-Myrina


End file.
